


Fraser Colors

by AbbyDebeaupre



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Cartography, Claire's a virgin, Damn Fine Pancakes!, Dirty Talk, F-1 Au, F/M, Frenchman's Gold, Fun beach read, Geillis the prankster, High on the Funmeter, Highlands Adventure, Historical nerdography, Hot tub hijinx, Jamie is a pro, Low on the Angstmeter, Mistaken Identity, Modern AU, Not all treasures are gold, Smutmeter warning later chapters, Steganography, Treasure Hunting, but not that kind, lots and lots of dirty talk, shades of young Jamie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 72,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbbyDebeaupre/pseuds/AbbyDebeaupre
Summary: Geillis, damn her devious hide, had deliberately misled Jamie by telling him that Ms. Beauchamp was “a widow  touring the highlands for the first time even though she'd lived in the UK most of her adult life.” With a description like that, it was no wonder he had expected a dowdy woman in sturdy shoes who would no doubt bend his ear off talking about her six cats while knitting a scarf over afternoon tea. Whatever else she was, Claire Beauchamp, late of Oxfordshire, was not the type of woman to indulge in idle chit chat or needlework.Lord Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?





	1. Present- One

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new. Posting new chapters every Saturday until Sept, 28 of what I hope will be a fun summer beach read.

Jamie had to hand it to his uncle Dougal, he had him exactly where he wanted him. Dougal knew Jamie had no choice but to agree to whatever terms his uncle demanded, for his other uncle, Dougal’s brother Colum, was the Chairman of MacK-F1 and together they would decide when to lift Jamie’s suspension. His father, Brian Fraser, must be turning over in his grave to see his son left to the tender mercies of those MacKenzie bastards.

 

Jamie had been prepared to do just about anything to get back into MacKenzie good graces. Anything short of falling to his knees and begging. He had his pride and he was his father’s son, after all.

 

So when Geillis called him up and asked him for a favor, he readily agreed knowing that she held considerable influence over Dougal. Jamie figured that his agreement to play host to Ms. Claire Beauchamp, a widow from Oxfordshire, England, and a close friend of Dougal’s mistress, Geillis Duncan, would weigh heavily in his favor and lead Dougal to relent soon.

 

Which is how Jamie found himself sitting in the Inverness airport twiddling his thumbs while awaiting Ms. Beauchamp’s imminent deplaning. He yawned, hearing his own jaw crack God, but it had been a long, frustrating week! He was tempted to lay his head back and take a nap.

 

He couldn't remember the last time he slept through a whole night. With no race to prep for, having turned down every media inquiry and with no project to occupy his time, Jamie found himself in the uncomfortable position of having very little to do and no good way to shed all the excess energy coursing through him. Jenny scolded him when he couldn’t stop pacing around her kitchen in long, leisurely laps as she made Sunday dinner last week, one of the few family traditions they still upheld.

 

“Can ye no’ just pretend yer on vacation like most folk would do? For all that ye move like a sloth, brother, I can hear yer mind racing from across the room!”

 

Ian had laughed at that. Jamie’s affectation of physical lethargy was often the subject of family amusement. Jamie attempted to look offended but he couldn’t help but smile. Long ago, he’d perfected the art of disguising his body’s natural strength and grace behind a lazy, meandering shuffle. He hid his quick wit by playing up his highland broge, and what he was really thinking by keeping his facial expressions completely blank no matter what thoughts were running around in his head.

 

As a boy, WIllie had called it his “Jamie-the-numpty” act, which he’d used as self-defense to blunt the hurt inside from being teased and tormented by classmates and teachers. When he turned pro, Jenny had noted he’d gotten quite the European polish on his “tours of the continent”-- her way of referring to the F-3 and F-2 racing circuits he’d been on at the start of his career. In deference to the new sophistication, Jenny had rechristened Jamie’s charming, backwards Scot act “the _Mac Dubh_ .” The press, fans, everyone except his own family loved _Mac Dubh,_ and hiding in plain sight had proven even more useful to him as an adult.

 

Jamie must have actually fallen asleep in the waiting area for he found himself being shaken awake by a none too gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you by any chance Jamie Fraser?”   

 

Jamie turned his sleep fogged face toward the sound of the clipped, starchy British voice coming from above and found himself staring into the most extraordinary golden irises he'd ever seen. He quickly turned his eyes downward trying to calm the swooping feeling in his wame. She was standing too close to him, he could smell her delicious scent..honeysuckle? Lilac? Something far too feminine.  

 

Breaking eye contact hadn't helped him at all for now was focusing on the perfect bow of her lips  and the encouraging smile she was giving him. Jamie had to practically bite back a moan watching her tongue flick over the fat middle bit resting in the center of her voluptuous lower lip before she repeated his name, this time a little louder and slower than before. He shifted further back into the seat and cast his gaze back up, noticing the cascade of rioting brown curls that bloomed around her head, Even in the unforgiving fluorescent light, she was stunning.

 

Why had he pictured Ms. Beauchamp as some wee dottie old thing? Likely because Geillis, damn her devious hide, had deliberately misled Jamie by telling him that her friend was “a widow  touring the Highlands for the first time even though she'd lived in the UK most of her adult life.” With a description like that, it was no wonder he had expected a dowdy woman in sturdy shoes who would no doubt bend his ear off talking about her six cats while knitting a scarf over afternoon tea. Well whatever else she was, Claire Beauchamp, late of Oxfordshire, was not the type of woman to indulge in idle chit chat or needlework. Even after a half a day of exhausting travel, she looked freshly sprung and like a woman on a mission. _Lord Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?_  

 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere and we really must go see about claiming my bags from the luggage area. All the other passengers went through quite some time ago. I do hope my suitcases haven’t been taken by anyone.” Claire was so relieved to have discovered he hadn’t forgotten to meet her for her arrival, sparing her the horrid possibility that she may have to try and find another guide, that she hadn’t really paid much attention to his aspect.

 

Geillis had told her to look for her boyfriend’s nephew, an “ _over-large, red heided lad”_ promising that Jamie, having been raised in the highlands, knew them like the back of his hand. When she expressed doubt about engaging the services of someone who sounded so young, Geillis laughed assuring her Jamie was “old enough” to handle whatever she needed. Over the crackling static of the phone lines, she heard her friend say, “dinna fash, Claire. The lad is a terrific tour guide, let him show his homeland off to ye.” Claire had shut her mouth at that point.  She had no better alternatives at hand, after all.

 

Now, though, she looked down on Dougal’s nephew with a kind of dismay. He was absolutely breathtaking she could tell that much even before he’d moved a muscle. His body had completely relaxed in sleep, spreading across half the entire row of waiting room seats. As he became aware of her presence, she watched him slide his long legs encased in broken-in faded jeans and well-worn boots back into a sitting position on the chair.  His torso coming to rest once more against just a single faux leather black chair that contrasted with the sparkling white button-down shirt haphazardly tucked in and out of Jamie’s unbelted waistband. Through the surprisingly graceful transition upright, Jamie’s knit hat somehow remained firmly in place with only a few errant curls peeking out from underneath, still hiding the rest of his red hair, in part why she’d had so much trouble finding him in the first place. He was certainly no “lad” but he somehow gave off the impression of wide-eyed uncertainty and she understood why Geillis would refer to him as such.

 

“Ms…....Bowshum?” he croaked out, still reeling and using the French inflection he’d naturally assumed would be correct given the spelling.  

 

 _Oh dear_ , Claire thought, _what has Geillis saddled me with this time? He looked completely overwhelmed by the situation. She only hoped his driving skills were better than his conversational ones_.

 

“Bee----chum,” she quickly corrected, and then smiled, not wanting to stress him out any further. That had been a mistake, for he just blinked.

 

“Shall we be off?” she promoted again.

 

“Aye,” he agreed but made no move to rise until she stepped back several paces, seeing him start to stand, Claire turned at once and headed briskly toward the claim area. Jamie felt tired just watching her purposeful stride.

 


	2. Past -Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Had I kent we’d be meeting again so soon and under these circumstances, Uncle, I'd have given ye the good whisky.”

It had been a risk, leaving Renault Racing, returning from France to work for a local team. Jamie could’ve gone to Sandringham or Mercedes or Red Bull, but he’d stubbornly insisted on coming home and joining MacK-F1.

 

Jenny and Ian both tried to talk him out of it. Frasers and MacKenzies were oil and water.  Hadn’t his father proven as much when, as a guest attending his mother’s engagement party to Malcolm Grant, Brian Fraser had eloped with the bride, keeping her hidden for nearly nine months after. Ellen emerged heavily pregnant to find grudging acceptance of her family. Though not really. An uneasy truce more like, represented by the annual exchange of holiday cards, and the occasional birthday phone call. The pattern unbroken until Ellen’s death and only because Jamie had shown such early promise as a Kart racer in his teens.

 

It had been a rough adolescence for Jamie, caught between his Fraser and MacKenzie halves, he’d learned early that there was no pleasing both.  Usually, he couldn’t manage to please either. Instead, he’d learned the best he could do was try and please himself and find a way to reconcile his family’s various feelings of disappointment. That wasn’t working out too well at the moment, Jamie acknowledged to himself, thinking once more about his father and all the dire warnings he’d given him about the MacKenzies.  

 

Brian had understood on some level that, unlike his eldest son William and his middle child Jenny,  Jamie wasn’t well suited for academic pursuits. For one thing, the lad hated anything to do with reading or writing and dodged any activity involving either, for another, he couldn’t stand being cooped up indoors. He had loathed school from the start. He especially resented being sent away for it.

Jamie spent his first year at boarding school begging and pleading for his parents to let him come home and go to their local. Brian and Ellen were baffled, their oldest two got top marks, had positions in student government, were surrounded by friends, their wee one, though, was never quite able to fit in at school. But they did not relent, he would adjust in time, all children did, they were sure.

 

Fraser girls boarded at St. George’s and Fraser boys went to St. Augustus. They left home at age 11 and that was that. Jamie’s teachers reported that he didn’t apply himself in class and was often disruptive. The kinder ones called him undisciplined, the less tactful, lazy. Jamie also got into a lot of fights. Brian wasn’t surprised when it happened the first few times. Jamie was an imposing presence and Brian understood how boys tested one another. He himself had taught Jamie how to defend himself knowing he’d have need of that skill. Jamie had gotten into some amount of trouble in primary, as all boys do.  At home, though, he was cheerful, helpful and ready to lend a hand around the farm. Jamie also had a regular habit of visiting neighbors and doing little chores for them as well. But at St A’s, he was a handful and calls home from the headmaster would come like clockwork.

 

They’d tried to get answers from Jamie, but he never offered anything that might explain or excuse his behavior. Brian and Ellen began to suspect they had made a serious misstep with their youngest by ingraining the family rule of _no tattling._ With three children, all rambunctious, the Fraser parents insisted they work things out between themselves and refused to be drawn in to sibling squabbles. As the youngest, Jamie had the least power and was less able to regulate his emotions than his older siblings. He rarely won any arguments with his tenacious sister and wise elder brother and would try and gain an advantage by telling on them. Therefore, his parents had been especially vigilant in drawing the line and punished him when he tried to persuade them to act by squealing on a sibling. In primary, Jamie made the mistake of tattling on his classmates the first time he’d gotten called to the principal’s office. Afterwards,  his brother thrashed him, reminding him no one liked a rat. Neither Willie nor Jenny spoke to him for three whole days after, an eternity for a young boy.

 

Right or wrong, Jamie took his brother’s lesson to heart and kept his mouth shut. Fat lot of good it did him at St. A’s. But what could he say? His classmates had put hot sauce in his cereal again? That they took his uniform jacket knowing he’d miss line up and get demerits, then hung it in his locker after rubbing mud all over the inner lining so he wouldn’t notice until he put it on? That his teacher held up his “atrocious” paper in front of the class and invited everyone to pick out their favorite spelling mistake? He was Jamie-the-numpty, the stupid simpleton who—even as an upperclassman—picked comics when he needed to do a book report, who made top marks in geometry but didn’t know his times tables. Jamie lived in terror of his parents finding out, so he worked twice as hard but it never seemed to make any difference. The older he grew, the greater his anxiety about it coming out. They had enough troubles without having to deal with his problems.

 

With most incidents at school having no witnesses, and Jamie refusing to talk, the headmaster had little choice but to discipline him. Willie watched out for him but he was four years older had secrets of his own to protect.  Jamie projected a total lack of concern about either his disciplinary record or his academic progress and, to the dismay of his parents, didn’t seem to understand how essential school was to his later life prospects. The reality was, Jamie had no idea what the future held for a great stubborn ox like him.

 

Perhaps if Ellen hadn’t been so ill with the cancer all those years, they might have been able to get through to him. For a long time, they chalked Jamie’s behavior up to trying to get himself expelled on purpose in order to stay home for Ellen. Her illness was hard on everyone, but especially on their youngest.  In a way, in losing Ellen, Brian had lost Jamie as well. For upon her death, Jamie, finally, at age 14, got to know his MacKenzie relations and meeting them had changed the course of his life forever.

 

Brian had only meant to keep the kids home over the weekend- for the funeral and wake. Surrounded by their voices,  their footsteps on the stairs, their dirty dishes in the sink was nice, normal. So Brian kept them— just one more day… then another….then another.

 

Finally, a week after the funeral, his kinsman, Murtagh Fraser stepped in and staged an intervention.

 

“The bairns canna stay here much longer.” Murtagh tried to be gentle.

 

“They just lost their mother,” Brian practically snarled.

 

“Aye, I ken. But Willie is graduating this year, he has studying and his A levels. His whole life is ahead of him, the life you and Ellen wanted for him.”

 

“I just….there willna be anyone left.”

 

“Ye ken they will always be your children, yers and Ellen’s.” Murtagh tried reassuring him.

 

“I dinna think I can stand opening the door to Lallybroch and no’ having her here, if I do that, she’ll be well and truly gone.” Brian’s eyes were filling with unshed tears.

 

“Ye ken that’s no’ true, she’s here in every rose, in every bit of paint on the walls.  Brian, when was the last time ye took any time for thinking, for yourself? We used to go camping all the time. Let’s drop the bairns back and head into the mountains like we used to?”

 

It was the hardest thing Brian had ever done, bringing them back to school. Harder even than laying her in the ground. But he and Ellen decided a long time ago that education was the most important gift they could give them.  Brian had told them to make their mother proud and promptly headed off into the mountains with Murtagh for a two week walking tour to try and get his head back on straight. So when Jamie was handed a week’s suspension for getting into yet another fight days after returning to St.A’s, Brian was nowhere to be found. The headmaster, who was well aware of Jamie’s family connections, called one of its most prominent alums, the industrialist known as “the MacKenzie” to come and take Jamie off his hands.  

 

It wasn’t Colum, of course, who came to pick him up, but the younger brother, Dougal MacKenzie. Jamie knew him by sight; or had once Jenny had pointed him out at the funeral.

 

After the graveside service, they had everyone back at the house for Ellen’s wake. Jamie had stumbled upon Dougal and Colum talking in hushed tones in the corner of his mother's art studio. They were looking at the thick sketchbook of family portraits Ellen had drawn over the years, many from memories of her childhood. He heard a couple of laughs from each as they turned the pages. Jamie was rooted to the spot, he'd had an insatiable curiosity about his wealthy, mysterious MacKenzie relations all his life.

 

“Will the bairns be ok?” He overheard his elder uncle ask. Colum was perched uneasily on a stool, his brittle bones sticking out at awkward angles. “Brian’s so lost in his grief he hasna so much as looked at any of them. The older one is weeping his head off at the stables, the girl is taking care of all the guests better than her father. The youngest one hasna said a word all day.”

 

“Aye, and that sly boots Campbell woman has been eyeing Brian like choice horseflesh. I canna stand the idea of another woman becoming Mistress on this land. God, I need a drink!” His uncle Dougal exclaimed.

 

“Mayhap we should renew our offer to buy Lallybroch from Brian? Did ye no' pack the other flask?” Colum asked as Dougal set the flask down with an empty clink.

 

Jamie made a derisive sound in the back of his throat and both uncles turned to see him in the doorway. Neither looked the least bit abashed at being overheard saying such rude things about his father, in his own home, no less.

 

Jamie wandered into the studio and crossed in front of the two older men, reached down into a supply cabinet and, as his fingers found what he'd been searching for, gave a triumphant shout, plunking the whisky bottle and three glasses on the table. As host, he poured. If either uncle thought 14 too young for a dram, they'd both wisely kept silent. Jamie placed a glass into each of their hands and then held his own for a toast.

 

“To Ellen MacKenzie Fraser, a woman of uncommon strength, virtue and loyalty. And to the man who might have lied, cheated, stolen and broken trust to have her, but God, my father loved her well. Slainte!”  Jamie had made his point, so he'd left the rest of the whisky and walked away without another word.

 

Now, for the second time in a week Jamie was in company with his MacKenzie relations. Privately, Jamie was glad his father hadn’t been reachable. Normally, he didn’t worry overmuch about his father’s temper. Brian had ceased strapping him last year when he turned 13 and his Da realized they were of a size. But he hadn’t wanted to upset him or cause him more pain.

 

Dougal came over to where Jamie sat slouching on a hard, unwelcoming bench outside the headmaster's office, a tactic designed to humble troublemakers. Not this one, though, Dougal thought. The boy’s duffle lay at his feet—Dougal wondered if he’d even bothered unpacking it from Lallybroch— his uniform crumpled and torn, he should have been in disgrace. But instead Jamie had looked up at his uncle with an amused smirk.

 

“Had I kent we’d be meeting again so soon and under these circumstances, Uncle, I'd have given ye the good whisky.”  

 

Dougal liked him even more upon their second meeting. Jamie had the MacKenzie cleverness and a wicked sense of humor. This boy, he could tell, never backed down and wasn't intimidated by anything.

 

Dougal took in that sureset cock to his head and the defiant gleam in his eye, daring his uncle to say one word of the customary lecture he was likely used to from the adults in his life and decided to take Jamie under his wing. He assumed the kid had been teased for having a dead mother, but didn't feel any need to force the lad to discuss it. He had a much better balm for the sea of emotions storming in this boy’s eyes.

 

Dougal’s father, Jacob, had built the MacKenzie Motorway and everyone at the track knew him by sight so it was no trouble at all to bring Jamie in to the pits and show him around. Instead of a talking to or a punishment, Dougal put him in a Kart, slammed a helmet on his head and, anticipating the lad’s next words, said “it’s no’ rocket science. And  no, ye dinna need a license. Push the right to go, the left to stop. Gear box has a few more cycles than the tractor back home, but works almost the same.”

 

After the first lap, Dougal rushed over to the Kart and pulled the helmet off, peering down at his nephew. Jamie’s white baklava hid everything from view except those piercing blue eyes of his-- just like those of his sister-- which stared at him from their cat-like Fraser shape, dancing with excitement.

 

“Well, sweet lad?” Dougal demanded when Jamie stayed silent.

 

“Again.” Jamie whispered.

 

Dougal laughed a huge belly laugh and popped the helmet back on his head.

 

Dougal didn’t think he’d ever seen a more joyful smile than Jamie’s after that first race. The lad did well. Really well. By the time Brian had returned and figured out what had happened, Jamie had already won three races and was heading out to the track every chance he got.

 

Brian had still been reeling from the loss of Ellen and in his grief became convinced that the MacKenzies were being overly friendly to Jamie just to get back at him for taking Ellen -- a life for a life. So he was skeptical of any activity involving them and unyielding when Jamie called home to explain what had happened. He was bursting with news about how much he loved racing and what a new experience it was to find out he was actually _good_ at something. Jamie, in fact, was better than _good_ , he was _born_ to drive fast.   

 

Being a race car driver wasn’t, to Brian’s way of thinking, a realistic career goal nor a proper profession. Brian respected formal education and spent what funds they did have on schooling for Jamie and his siblings. Racing was the most expensive, luxurious hobby his son could’ve chosen and that particularly stuck in his father’s craw given the prominence of the MacKenzie brand and their long association with motor sports.

 

“How long do ye plan on filling  his head with stuff and nonsense?” Jamie and Jenny exchanged worried glances as they sat side by side at the top of the stairs, catching glimpses of Brian as he furiously paced the entryway below. “ Ye pop in like Father Christmas, after ignoring yer niece and nephews all their lives, dangling sweeties in front of a starving boy knowing he'll follow you around like the Pied Piper. Ye listen to me ye canty wee bastard, he is my son! Mine, and ye dinna ken him a bit.”

 

They were home on break, together for the first time since Ellen’s death and all of them were trying to pretend everything perfectly normal. That morning at breakfast, Jamie had made the mistake of casually mentioning that instead of  coming home this summer, he would be driving on the MacKenzie Kart team and living above the garages at the Motorway in Edinburgh.

 

“Och, gifted is he? Reflexes like a wee cheetie? Much good that will do him, I'm sure.” Brian said sarcastically. “What do ye suggest Jamie do when he turns 18 and canna get past his Os? And what kind of position will he qualify for wi’ a resume that says he’s spent the last four years going ‘round in circles like a hamster on a wheelie?”  

 

Jamie squeezed his sister’s hand and cast a helpless, wide-eyed look at her. He towered over her but right now looked every inch the younger brother.  Her heart thudded in her chest, aching for him, she wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him it would be fine, but how could she? If their father banned him from the track, it would destroy him.  She eased her body carefully over the balcony to try and spot Brian as his voice trailed off. She abruptly snapped back when he paced back into view. They could hear a loud voice coming through the earpiece that Brian was holding away from his head. Jamie shook his head, unable to make out the words, Jenny, too, shrugged.

 

“Happy?”  Brian said in an incredulous tone. “Aye, I'll give you that much.” Dougal obviously had a bit more to say on the subject for Brian held his tongue for another minute.  “Fine, but if I get so much as one more call from the headmaster, this ends, do ye understand me?”

 

A loud whoop erupted from Jenny who threw her arms around Jamie and suddenly Brian looked up to the second floor landing and realized they’d overheard his conversation. He ended the call, and gestured at his son with phone in his hand. “I mean it Jamie, one call, one failed test, one detention, yer done.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will alternate present/past for the first 14 chapters, then switch to all present.


	3. Present -Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is in a hurry, Jamie gets distracted and I love these two dorks

Jamie lost sight of Claire as she rounded a corner. He kept his usual pace, seeing no need to run about when there was only the one spot she could go. Along the way, he found himself distracted by the crowd at the coffee bar.  Five minutes later, he heard her frustrated sigh somewhere over his left shoulder. 

 

“Mr. Fraser, what on earth are you doing? I thought you were accompanying me to the baggage carousel?” 

 

Jamie didn’t turn to look at her, giving his full attention to the board above their heads. He seemed to be preoccupied deciphering the drink menu. Claire watched as he held one hand up in front of one eye, squinting a little and then moving to cover the other eye as his lips slowly, and silently sounded out the exotic names:  _ macchiatos, cappuccinos, lattes _ . He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, poor thing. But at least he knew how to read, she thought with a total lack of charity at odds with her normally nurturing self.

 

Claire tried to hide her impatience as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, then seemed to catch herself and stand stilI. Jamie hoped that was a good sign for he couldn’t imagine dragging her hither and yon all over the glens at what he was coming to suspect was her customary breakneck speed. In his opinion, the joy of a good ramble wasn’t the destination. He pretended not to notice when she started to tap her foot against the floor.  

 

Claire became aware of the irritating smack and click her heels were making. Since the sound had no effect on the oblivious Scot by her side, she decided to try a different tact to spur him into action. She shifted her heavy carry on from one shoulder to the other.  Her whole back ached from the day’s travel. She briefly considered putting her tote down on the ground, but didn’t  want to encourage Jamie’s  predisposition toward inertia.  

 

Finally she spoke.

 

“Were you intending to order a coffee?” 

 

“Mayhap,” he nodded and continued his perusal. 

 

Claire waited for him to say more and when he didn’t she couldn’t help herself, “Today?” she bit out and thought she saw the merest ghost of a smile playing across his lips, so fleeting she might well have imagined it.  

 

“Weeeel,” Jamie ran his hand along the back of his neck, seeming to consider something of great importance, “Ahmno accustomed ta drinkin’  coffee in tha afternoon and I usually dinna like it except in the mornin’. We dinna have such within five kilometers of Broch Mordha, ye ken. The last time I had one, my chum brought me a tidy one, but I dinna think ta’ ask what it was.” 

 

Claire had been so busy translating his thickly accented words that she hadn’t realized he’d stopped talking and gone back to staring blankly at the menu. She was standing close enough to see the outrageous length of his eyelashes framing the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

 

Her initial impression was correct, he was one of the most genetically gifted men she’d come across. She thought perhaps someone this good looking wasn’t used to taking the initiative. Likely he’d been handed his heart’s desire from the moment he learned to point his finger and pout with that outrageous mouth of his. Instead of getting upset, she found an unexpected well of compassion for him. How embarrassing it would be to be faced with something as simple as ordering coffee and discovering you had no idea how to undertake such a mundane task. 

 

“Can I get it for you?” Claire touched his arm gently and Jamie was startled to see her looking at him with the kind of compassion usually reserved for well-wishers attending funerals; but he knew he could stare at her golden eyes for days and never tire of it, so he didn’t bother analyzing why her face held that particular expression now. 

 

“Uch, no, thank ye kindly, lass, boot I can pay fer ma’ oan drink!” He gave her a dazzling smile and heard her mutter something that sounded like  _ Jesus Hovelt Christ _ .

 

“That’s not really what I meant. I just wondered if I could help with your selection?”  

 

Jamie’s eyes grew very wide, which took a surprising amount of time, “Do ye ken what my chum ordered me, then?” 

 

“Well, no.” Claire found her cheeks flushing and she shifted her bag to the other shoulder again. “How could I? But we really need to get going so if its just a matter of picking a drink, I would recommend the cappuccino made with skim milk.”  Claire’s shoulder was on fire this time she didn’t just shift but held the bag out to him., “Look, why don’t you carry this and I will get your coffee?” 

 

Jamie frowned at her outstretched hand and blinked. 

 

“Yer bag looks verra heavy,” he said making no move to relieve her of its weight, “good thing yer a braw lass, aye?”  

 

“Do you think we can get going?” Claire bit off each and every word of that sentence, her customary manners slipping considerably the longer he tarried. 

 

“Uch, dinna fash, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said smiling down on her, with a warmth she found made her belly clench and her breath come short. How could she be both charmed and irritated by him, she had no idea.  “Cappuccino it is. I’ll go take care of that, shall I while ye wait right here.” 

 

Claire watched as Jamie took a thousand years to order the cappuccino, then even more time chatting with the young lady at the register, trading banter with an older gentlemen at the side table and finally, once he’d positioned the heat shield just right and gotten the lid securely in place, he walked straight to her and held the cup out. 

 

“Here ye go, lass, one cappuccino.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Yer wee drink.” Jamie waited patiently as she took it by reflex. 

 

“This is your drink,” she reminded him. 

 

“Now, Sassenach, ye ken fine that I dinna drink coffee in tha’ afternoon. I told ye as much nay moren five minutes past.” And with that Jamie was walking down the corridor heading toward baggage claim. 


	4. Past-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strawberry Hearts Forever

Even after making his deal with Jamie and Dougal, Brian’s attitude didn’t soften. He took every opportunity to warn Jamie about his charming but sly MacKenzie relations, reminding Jamie how they cut their own sister off without any remorse, and hinting that they were using Jamie for their own ends. To Brian’s way of thinking, the only reason to build the lad up was for the fun of watching him fall even harder.

 

Yet, Brian had to concede the more time Jamie spent with the MacKenzies, the more confident he grew.  Willie’s letters home proudly catalogued his brother’s accomplishments and joked about how he was suddenly the less popular Fraser in school. Jamie’s grades didn’t  improve, then again, they didn’t get worse even though Jamie was missing more classes and tests than ever before. But Jamie never got into another fight. And on calls home, Brian couldn’t help but notice the sound of confidence lined with a bit of pride in Jamie’s voice which he hadn't heard since Jamie was a wee’un after learning how to master tasks like tying his shoes or feeding the horses by himself.

 

They had all had enough sadness to last a lifetime and, in the end, despite his misgivings, Brian just couldn’t take this away from his son; but he also could not give in with any grace.  Too much water under _that_ bridge. Brian read all about Jamie’s wins and rankings in the local paper. Going to the track himself,  of course, was out of the question. He was even more stubborn than his children , and determined to make sure Jamie-- and especially the MacKenzies --knew what he thought about the whole endeavor by never showing up at the track.  

 

Eventually, Jamie stopped calling home to tell his Da about his latest race, he learned never to utter the name “MacKenzie” in his father’s presence and he and his father slowly began to find a way to relate to one another without Ellen’s calming presence and so long as Jamie kept the racing side of his life to himself.  When it was time to graduate, which Jamie had managed to do by the skin of his teeth, he didn’t even bother with applications to university. He had a handful of sponsors, many of whom only knew about Jamie because Dougal made a point of bragging about his talented young nephew. MacK-F1 didn’t compete in F2 or F3 and in order to have any chance to keep racing, Jamie had to find a spot on the European circuit.

 

It was Dougal who’d dropped him off at the airport, insisting on walking him to the gate and standing with him in line as passengers boarded.  When at last the line thinned out, Dougal said his goodbyes, hugging Jamie so tightly he almost pulled Jamie’s leather jacket from his shoulders.

 

“Ye’ll make us proud, aye?” Dougal had fixed him with a steely stare and Jamie thought he caught a small welling in his uncle’s eye.  

 

“Thank ye, Dougal, truly.” Jamie said as he placed his hand on his heart and gave Dougal a courtly bow making Dougal shake his head ruefully.

 

“They’ll never ken what hit them,” Dougal told him, “call us every now and then, yer Uncle Colum worries for ye.”

 

“I will,” Jamie hovered in the jetway, not quite ready to go.  Every single hope he had for any kind of future waited for him on the other end of that flight.  What if he didn’t make it? What if he wasn’t good enough? Dougal sensed his uncertainty and his fear. He wrapped his arms around him one last time.

 

“Yer a braw lad, Jamie, never give up, ye hear me? You can do anything ye set your mind to-- dinna forget it.”  

 

“I wilna, I promise.” Jamie straightened his shoulders, stood tall and jumped into the companionway just as they shut the doors.

 

It was only after he was sitting in his seat that he noticed the small box his uncle had slipped into his pocket. Jamie carefully removed it. He was holding a small sterling stag and thistle medal mounted on a chain. Jamie could swear he’d seen the pattern before.  Not thistles, he realized, but strawberries etched in a way that mimicked the classic Highland pattern.

 

Jamie knew the design came from a drawing his mother had made for his father on their fifth wedding anniversary. On their tenth, Brian had paid a local silversmith to create a pendant for his mother based on her design.  She wore it with a delicate filigree chain, but it had been smaller in his memory. His fingertips traced the design. He realized that the piece he was holding had, in fact, been reset to be bolder and more masculine. Someone had added the family’s motto _Je Suis Pret_ across the top. Jamie slipped it over his head and as it found a home near his heart, he began to believe things would turn out okay.

 

Jamie’s career took off a year after that first fateful flight when he landed a position as the number three driver for Carterham on the F-2 circuit, which attracted a wider range of sponsors because it had a relatively low cost of entry.  F-2 racing contained expenses by requiring every team to use the same uniform car-- no modifications allowed. Engine, chassis, parts, track time all of it standardized. This made the one and only variable influencing the standings in an F-2 race the skill of the driver.  

 

It was both an awesome responsibility and a huge opportunity that played to all of Jamie’s strengths. F-2 was the working jobber’s playground and Jamie soon got the attention of the bigger names in the sport. One thing led to another and he eventually was hired as a test driver for Lotus F-1.  From there, he earned a full ride on Renault.

 

Formula One racing is a world to its own. Most drivers were the sons of wealthy race families able to afford the $75,000 per year needed to compete at the junior F-1 level. Jamie had spent all his high school years on local Kart tracks, not in any formula youth development program. He wasn't naive but he was ignorant. He spent the first three years haunting the garage learning from the bottom up how everything worked, terrified every time anyone handed him a manual to study or form to fill out.  He cultivated his numpty persona covering up the fact he couldn't decipher the basic race rules at driver orientation meetings by asking obvious questions in a slightly oblivious tone. His charm and self deprecation endearing enough for the other drivers to tolerate it with nothing more than rolled eyes and sighs. He’d earned the respect of his peers as Jamie was a rarity in the racing world-- a self made Formula 1 driver.

 

Unlike F-2 racing, the star of the show in F-1 aren’t the drivers but each team’s unique custom built cars.  Aside from a barebones “formula” of certain measurements, teams are free to experiment with the design, weight distribution, wheel base, and component parts to create multi-million dollar feats of engineering that, like airplanes, used wings. Instead of lifting the vehicle off the ground, the spoilers --“wings” --do the opposite by creating enough downdraft to stick the car as close to the road as possible, which gives the cars unparalleled handling ability. In theory, the cars produce enough G force to drive upside-down on tunnel ceilings.  

 

In F-2, where every driver is given the same exact car, driver skill is paramount. In F-1, where each team’s design and weight distributions are closely guarded trade secrets, the drivers do not dictate race outcomes. The fastest driver in the slowest car cannot possibly overcome the technological edge that exists for even the slowest driver in the fastest car.

 

To get to this level of production, F1 teams operate under black box budgets that top $500 million a year-- all in the service of making a car a one hundredth of a second faster than someone else’s car.  Each car is custom built-- with thousands of component parts engineered to the exact specifications of each team. Each team free to experiment with how to reduce drag and ensure maximum speed on the straights. Even with the mind numbing price tag, the cars themselves aren’t built to last. Each engine is only designed to withstand the strain of one race.  The tires are capable of running 60 laps, max. The acceleration and thrust create so much stress that race cars constantly break down and critical systems blow out all the time-- especially in Renault cars which are famous for their poor endurance.

 

The lifeblood of an F-1 car is heat, heat makes the cars mold together with the required precision, heat fires the engine, heat makes the tires, which are filled with nitrogen, stick to the track, the braking systems use displacement of heat equivalent to a lava flow to enable cars to go from 175 mph to a dead stop in under five seconds. The heat in the cockpit averages  122 degrees.

 

Driving in such conditions, Jamie regularly lost between six and eight pounds during a race-- which he knew because each driver and car were weighed before and after a race.

Heat glues a car together, but it killed, too and Jamie didn’t know a single driver who wasn’t scared spitless of being burned alive after a crash. The flame-retardant suit he wore could only keep his body temperature regulated for eleven seconds. Past that, it was anyone’s guess how long until he boiled alive in his skin.  Like all drivers, before each race, Jamie was required to prove he could get out of his safety harness and clear the car in under 5 seconds. One of his pre-race quirks was that Jamie wouldn’t race until the stopwatch clocked his exit time under 4 seconds, luckily he usually got it on the first try.

 

Jamie knew he was a bit bigger than the average driver. This was an advantage from the strength and endurance point of view, but lord, it made getting into his seat (and out of it) a chore. With nothing but a scant few centimeters between his ass and the track, it was a damn good thing that he had the muscle strength to last the two-three hours of racetime. During that time, he was glued to his  seat by design, given the aerodynamics and airflow.

 

The amount of downforce exerted by the cars regularly pulled drain covers off the tracks laid out in grand prix racing, even after race organizers ensure every single manhole cover is welded down in the run up to a race weekend. The clink and zing of bottoming out on the street when the cars exerted maximum downdraft hurt like hell but it was watching the road debris kicked up when the car ahead of you did it that caused true fear. In those moments, a driver could only react and counted on the lighting fast responses of the car to guide him onto a safe path out of trouble.

 

For this reason, Jamie’s second favorite piece favorite piece of equipment was his steering wheel. It was a thing of beauty. Every control on it within a finger reach, which was critical as the G-forces made moving his hands from it impossible to do during the race. Every control in the car had a corresponding button, switch or lever hooked into the steering wheel. Even his water was delivered by a special mechanism built into the steering wheel fed to a small tube inside his helmet-- which was his favorite piece of equipment.

 

Jamie had been part of the working group reviewing whether F-1 should switch from an open cockpit to an enclosed design. Part of the iconic look of the sport was allowing fans to see the drivers at the controls during a race instead of behind a stock car’s impersonal, albeit impenetrable windshield.  The federation ultimately voted to mandate state of the art helmets. The helmets restricted peripheral vision, limited a driver’s range of head and neck movement to prevent traumatic brain injuries. Externally the helmet was both bullet proof and self-extinguishing after exposure to fire. Jamie was also relieved to discover the composite materials were actually lighter, which would help reduce friction.

 

Designer Jens Munser was also part of that group and he and Jamie had become fast friends, with Jens volunteering to take up the challenge of designing an iconic look for one of F-1’s most recognizable drivers.  Jamie had insisted on clean, simple lines-- his height and red hair were flashy enough, he didn’t need any added adornment. Jamie had rejected six designs before Jens threw up his hands and sat Jamie down at his drafting table.  

 

“You do it!” Jens told him giving him full access to all of the toys in his studio. Jamie stared at the blank canvas for a long moment and then slowly, almost shyly reached into his shirt and pulled out his mother’s pendant  and began to draw in big, bold black and red lines. When he was finished Jens was rendered speechless. Jamie had managed to create a deconstructed design where a strawberry was overlaid on an anatomically correct depiction of a heart.  

 

“Well?” Jamie finally demanded, as he put the necklace over his head, his heartbeat thumping against the cool metal as it slid back under his shirt.

 

“Almost, my friend, but not quite...what if we….” Jens played until he’d perfected a black on black -- not a single dot of red ---tonal emblem that was subtle but unmistakable. It had led directly to Jamie’s christening with a nickname that both embarrassed him and signaled the fact that he had been truly accepted into the ranks of his fellow drivers.

Elite, expensive and exclusive was the world Jamie worked in.  Successful seasons required both engineering and driving excellence. Cars that were unreliable, component parts that couldn’t handle the torque, poor tactical decisions during races made it impossible for a team to put together a winning season. The very reason Jamie left Renault and went to MacK-F1 was because no matter how great he drove, team Renault was never going to manufacture a winning car.  He needed a car that could outperform the other cars on the circuit and it was up to him to outdrive the other drivers. He knew he was capable of holding up his end of the bargain. He believed MacK-F1 was up to the challenge as well. Less than fifty people in the world are qualified to drive F1 at any given time, of those, less than a dozen are capable of winning. Jamie was one of them.

 

But one wrong headed decision going at 170 mph -- a literal blink of an eye-- had set off a cascading chain of events that led to his current suspension from MacK-F1, and, unless he could get back on the circuit in time for Monaco, he had virtually no chance to take the World Drivers’ Championship.


	5. Present- Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which resolve our suitcase carousel cliffhanger: will Jamie conjure up another way to bedevil Claire or will she at last be reunited with her luggage? And in which a misunderstanding ensues.

Claire and Jamie arrived at the claim area just in time to see her suitcase disappear through the little loading tunnel.  Seeing it for the lost cause it was, Claire decided to use the opportunity to visit the WC and Jamie offered to make sure no one took the bag when it came back around.  

 

She’d fully expected to find him waiting near the exit with both her carry on and suitcase in hand and had started walking that way until it dawned on her that there was no one standing at the exit door. She whipped her head around to see him staring at her bag as it came down the conveyor belt.

 

Jamie was standing exactly where she had left him-- almost at the spot where the bags disappeared to go around the back again. He hadn't made any effort -- despite the vast emptiness surrounding the conveyor belt  -- to move closer to the place where the carousel started in order to secure her bag at the first opportunity, but he seemed content to wait the interminable time it took for the bag to reach the place he was standing, listening to the loud squeaks and squeals of the luggage carousel watching her case make its laborious path around to be claimed.  

 

In disbelief, Claire watched as the Scot made no move to reach for her case even as it practically scraped his knees going on past. With a small cry of alarm, Claire rushed forward and snagged it before it spun out of reach once more.  She said nothing to him about it, preferring to let her peeved expression do all the talking for her.

As she marched on past him, sighing only a bit louder than usual, she would have sworn she caught that fleeting ghost of a smile playing on his lips before he schooled his features into a blank expression and called out, “where ya heided, Sassenach? Ye dinna ken where I parked.”

 

Claire abruptly stopped and turned around, conceding the point and allowing him to lead the way, which he’d done admirably, if snail-like, dutifully rolling her case. Her shoulder was about to fall off, if she made a habit of travel in the future, she vowed all her bags would be rolling, even her carry-on.

 

Claire seemed to calm down once her bag had been rescued from its solo mission going round and round the claim area. Since the suitcase had wheels, Jamie agreed to take it for her. He thought she’d lose it for sure while he hemmed and hawed about it first. _God but she was fun to tease_!

 

Walking down the long tramway toward the exit, Jamie was hailed by a group of Loganair flight attendants and pilots, congregating around a billboard promoting a survey sponsored by the local planning commission inviting the public to chime in on whether Inverness International Airport should change its name to Inverness-Loch Ness Airport as a nod to increased tourism. From the headshakes, Claire concluded most Scots were not in favor of this idea.  

 

The gathering, all in their smart blue and plaid uniforms greeted him by patting his back, slapping his arm and shaking his hands, saying things like:

 

“ _Mac Dubh!” “Howse it guan’” “Ye hingin in?’_  

 

Jamie seemed to take all of this in stride, shrugging his shoulders and answering now and then with a “No bad, considerin’” and a “Nicely, yerself?”

 

Claire stood back a little, trying not to covet the crews regulation rolling bags, shifting her own carry on to her other shoulder once more, and watched, not wanting to intrude.  There was an easy camaraderie between them and Jamie and she thought that Geillis had been right after all, he must be very good at his job and well liked for it for flight crews to be on such good terms with him.

 

_“He’s a glaikit roaster.”  “Aye, goat wee bools in his heid!”_

 

“Weel, they arena sair pleased wi’ me at the moment.”

 

_“Ye can tell the MacKenzie we’re all wi’ ya Mac Dubh, he should give ye a square go, aye?”_

 

“Thank ye, I’d like nothin’ better, ye ken, but, I’m gaun home, thare’s notch ta do aboot it fer now.” This was followed by a series of nods and more gentle pats on the back. One girl boldly kissed his cheek and Claire found herself mystified when the entire crew squeezed in tight around Jamie and he held up two or three cameras and took various selfie shots. As they broke apart, Jamie said goodbye and they all returned the sentiments, some with added words of encouragement.

 

_“Dinna fash, Mac Dubh, ye’ll be better o’ a rest.”_

 

_“Laddie, keep holdin’ yer neb abuin the watter, remember yer the best driver Scotland’s produced in decades.”_

 

Claire’s ears perked up at that. At least she was in safe hands. Jamie suddenly seemed to remember her existence and he gave her a shy, almost sheepish look.

 

“What was all that?” Claire asked.

 

“Och, jus’ some folk I ken a wee bit. They sponsored me when I first learned to drive. Shall we gaed oot the road?” Jamie gestured to the glass doors that led outside and they walked side by side to the exit.

 

He’d need to drop the exaggerated Scots thing soon, for one it encouraged everyone around him to answer in kind and for another Jamie could barely understand himself.  He appreciated the hometown support but being reminded of the situation put him in a disgruntled frame of mind. Even though it wasn’t the Sassenach’s fault, he was still pissed at Dougal and unwilling to be graceful about the position he found himself in. Every day off the track was costing him points and his chance to win the championship driving Fraser Colors.

 

Claire had been fairly good about letting him lead the way back to the parking area, though as Jamie stepped into the crosswalk to move from the terminal side to the five story parking structure across the street, he heard her alarmed shriek of,  “wait!” As she grabbed his shirttail, pulling him back onto the curb.

 

“What’s wrong?” He said in surprise.

 

“You didn’t signal for the pedestrian lights.” Claire scolded, hitting the crosswalk button with firm authority.

 

Jamie stared at her wide eyed and, then in an unmistakable gesture meant to underscore the ridiculousness of her statement, he held his arm out to the left and then the right indicating the empty roadway. Yet Claire, who had been urging him to move along from the moment she’d spotted him in the waiting area, stayed rooted to her patch of sidewalk. Jamie was floored, was she unwilling to move until the little white walking man started blinking its permission? Jamie smiled to himself, having fun discovering all her little contradictions.   

 

“There are no cars coming, I canna even see any at the lights half mile up. Tis the Inverness Airport, no’ Piccadilly Circus.” That seemed to chasten her and she nodded, but he noticed that when he next stepped off the curb her fingers were tangled back of his shirt and stayed there until they were safely on the other side of the road.

 

“Wait, this is us?” Claire said in shock upon seeing his Land Rover.  Her head was starting to pound.

 

“Ye mean my motor?” When she nodded, he merely grunted in response, opening the lift in the back. For a split second his automatic reflexes had him reaching for her bag but at the last moment, he checked himself and gestured for her to hoist the bag into the back.

 

“There has been a mistake, Mr. Fraser.”  She began, not moving to load her luggage.

 

Jamie said nothing but when she didn’t move, he took in her stormy, troubled expression. He was beginning to suspect that whenever she went all _Mr. Fraser_ on him, that whatever her present difficulty may be, it was about to become his.

 

“I can’t possibly afford this.” Her eyes raced across his face and she noticed he was frowning again. _Oh dear, didn’t Geillis tell him her budget?_

 

“What’s that, Sassenach?”

 

“When Geillis made the arrangements, she told me 50 pounds a day was sufficient. But I’m sure a car like this costs more than that in petrol alone.”

 

Jamie made a strangled sound deep in his throat and found Claire thumping him hard on his back. “I’m no’ dying, lass, but if ye keep thumpin’ me sae hard I might jus’ change my mind.” he squeezed out making a _let it be_ gesture that had her stepping back almost at once. Even with her back turned, he could tell she was worrying over something. After a moment’s reflection, she turned her troubled eyes toward his.

 

“I apologize for the mix up. I….I could pay you a little more for today, but I couldn’t possibly cover your fees for the whole two weeks of my stay.  Since you are in the business, perhaps you could recommend someone else who would fit into my price range for the same services?”

 

“Services?” Jamie echoed.

 

Really, having a proper conversation with the man was like pulling teeth, she was uncertain if it was the language barrier or a naturally low threshold of comprehension on his end but thus far it seemed to be the latter. Claire supposed there was some comfort in the fact that his thinking speed was at least in line with the pace at which he moved, but, still, what a shame to have such a  gorgeous package and nothing to match it underneath.

 

They had been doing so splendidly, too, why once they were out of the building itself, they’d crossed from the terminal sidewalk to the parking garage in what had to be record time for him.  She thought it would've taken a half-hour at least given the considerable amount of time it took to them to pick up her bag and get outside.

 

Now, standing outside of his Land Rover, it seemed the Scot was back to overwhelmed once again. She felt terribly for booking his time only to realize she couldn’t afford to pay him his customary fee. _Damn, Geillis Duncan_! she would give her a stern talking to when they next spoke.

 

“Maybe we should just call it quits right here. If you would just help me get back to the terminal, perhaps I could see about getting a Uber instead?”  

 

“Ye want me to bring ye back?” He said incredulously and she remembered all too well just how long it had taken to poke and prod him to get here, she couldn’t imagine the reverse trip would be any quicker.

 

“I really don’t see an alternative, do you?” Claire said but not unkindly.

 

“Fifty pounds a day, ye say?” Jamie asked and when she nodded he added, “fer what services, exactly?” his tone was infused with suspicion.

 

“As my guide and driver on a tour of the highlands.” She said a little exasperated. Really, this was no way to run a tour guide business at all.

 

“Och! Weel, that’s fine then,” Jamie seemed to hesitate and seeing it she gestured for him to continue, “its just that when ye said _services_ I was thinkin’ ye may have had somat else in mind, ken, and fifty pounds a day wouldna come close to enough for _that!”_ Jamie blinked his eyes at her in a meaningful way which she had no idea how to interpret. Trying to figure him out was like landing on another planet where the pull of gravity was twice as strong, slowing everything from movement to brain processing speed.

 

“Are you sure? Because I have quite a list of sights I wanted to see, I can pull it out if you’d like?”

 

“Nah, Sassenach, that’s fine. Yer an organized woman, doesna surprise me a bit that ye’ve a list,” Jamie’s words were complementary but his tone implied something else, “alphabetical is it?”   

 

“No, geographical, clustering points of interest by travel distance.” She replied before catching the sweet smile on his face and wondering if perhaps he might have been teasing her, something men generally never bothered doing with her.

 

She tentatively returned his smile and found to her delight his eyes were sparkling with mischief. This time, when he looked at her, she felt something warm and lovely burst through her body.  

 

“We’ll work the details oot on the way, lass. Watch yerself,” Jamie told her as he rather gracefully stowed her bags. She couldn’t help but notice the way his arms rippled as he moved. There was not one lazy muscle on that perfect body of his and she found herself wondering how he maintained the optical illusion of lassitude.

 

As they exited the airport road and merged onto the motorway, Jamie turned to her, “Ye could have saved considerable money by renting a motor, ye ken?”

 

Claire’s cheeks flushed, “I _could_ if I knew how to drive.”

 

“Everyone kens that!” he laughed but she shrugged and looked out her window, worrying her bottom lip between her top front teeth in a way he found absolutely enchanting, though he really wish she would stop doing it.

 

It was distracting the hell out of him. Two weeks watching her do that would drive him crazy and it was obvious she had no idea that she positively oozed sex when she made that little sucking sound in her mouth. Still, as a Scot he was thrifty by nature and fifty pounds a day was better than nothing. Besides, he had little else to occupy himself at present, so he might as well reacquaint himself with his homeland, to say nothing of passing the time with the delectable Ms. Beechum, not Bowshum.  The more he thought of it, the more he was looking forward to it. Dougal might be having a great huge laugh at his expense, but they’d see who’d be laughing last.

 

_Next week -Jamie's Shanghai Grand Prix doesn't go as planned._


	6. Past- Shanghai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jamie is provoked.

Jamie had been running second in the standings when Stephen Bonnet, the premiere driver for the Sandringham Motor Team, began screwing with his line. He loathed the man, he was a nasty driver, used whatever tactic he thought would work and half the time was never assessed even a five second penalty. 

 

There was a rumour that he once held a young mechanic’s face against a hot engine as he used a remote to fire the last stage of ignition, causing third degree burns. The kid needed skin grafts but came back to work a few months later-- for a different team.  He refused to talk about it and refused to get anywhere near the Sandringham garage. Bonnet was one of those people that raised the misery index the second he walked in a room and he didn’t give a shite about how anyone else felt. Jamie didn’t think it ever occurred to him to wonder. If he didn't like Sandringham’s pit placement, he would insist on a lesser team switching garage locations, causing both teams to scramble to do his bidding, disrupting everyone else in the process. Other drivers resented him for that and for showing up late to mandatory driver meetings, PR events and fan signings and for how he bad mouthed them. He also never took responsibility for his own actions-- everything was always someone else’s fault. 

 

Bonnet regularly flew into rages at his own crew when the pit took too long, insisted on forcing his team to work extra hours (unpaid, of course) to rebuild gearboxes that were already perfect. Jamie, leaving by the back exit to avoid the press at a post-race event, had once stumbled on Bonnet in an alley with his pants around his ankles.  Something in the set of his head didn’t sit right with Jamie, but the woman hadn’t called out, didn’t seem to be objecting. Yet ... as he rounded the corner he found himself reaching for his phone. Jamie hit the emergency services number and reported an out of control fire in the back of the building. They took roughly 30 seconds and came blazing down the road sirens blaring. He had no idea if he was reading the situation correctly or not. But there was something deeply off about that guy. 

 

At the Shanghai grand prix, Jamie was treated to an extra dose of Bonnet’s poor sportsmanship side.  First, it was rushing up on his rear and sliding sideways --enough to be distracting, on purpose, then repeated push-outs as Bonnet attempted to overtake on the turn, refusing to give way even though the rules on this type of action were crystal clear. He overheard Dougal, who, in addition to being his uncle, was the MacK-F-1 GM and pit boss, screaming at his counterpart over at Sandringham to leash their mad dog driver or else… but Jamie tuned it out. He needed all his energy just to maintain his current line as the wind unexpectedly buffeted across the track, kicking up a cloud of dust. When it cleared, Jamie could tell Bonnet wasn’t going to yield, even though the race tactics he was using would have been enough to disqualify him on any other track. 

 

But the circuit in China was run by the Federation of United Classes (known in driver parlance as  _ those FUCers) _ , a group of international Formula 2-3ers who wanted to push the big boys out of Formula 1.  Politics, pure and simple. They played dirty, did anything to knock good teams off the leaderboard. In-fighting between MacKenzie and Sandringham only helped less robust teams. Not to mention, getting Jamie or Bonnet out of the way would boost Charlie Stuart-- the so-called Bonnie Prince-- their best driver, up into the top ten. 

 

“Ye saw that, right?” Jamie said for perhaps the fifth time in as many laps, this time, Bonnet’s attempt had been successful and he passed Jamie by running hard on the dirt pack that was out of bounds. A mandatory five second penalty that went unpunished. 

 

“Aye, Jamie, we’ve lodged a protest and its under review.” Murtagh, his godfather and head tactician, assured him over the race radio. 

 

Jamie accelerated well above the speed they’d agreed upon as part of their race plan. If he didn’t correct back to base, they’d have to time an additional pit stop later in the race. Jamie didn’t care— his crew was the fastest in the business, less than 2 seconds and they would have all four tires swapped. He needed to make up lost ground  _ now _ , or later wouldn’t matter. 

 

“Let him go.”  Dougal’s voice now. 

 

“Let him go? No’ on yer fucking life, I willna!” Jamie exclaimed. “He’s an idiot an’ I’m no’ about ta----”

 

“Focus, laddie, the tires are running hot,” Murtagh warned, too hot and thermal performance was starting to degrade.  

 

“So is my temper.” Jamie shot back.  

 

Races were won or lost by a pulse point and often came down to how individual drivers adjusted their strategy to shave milliseconds off laps. Tires had to be hot enough to grip the track and hold a racer’s line in turns but too hot and they didn’t run at optimal speed over distance. On top of that, each team was given two different compounds of tires before each race and were required to use both at some point.  One compound was designed to run hotter-- increasing stickiness and grip in the turns and one compound designed for endurance. Choosing the hot one first allowed the driver to establish an early lead, but that could prove fatal if the lead didn’t hold and another team conserved the fast tires for the end. 

 

Perhaps Jamie shouldn’t have been surprised when Bonnet and the Prince began working together, squeezing him at the top of turn two, where the hairpin forced drivers to reduce speed from 185 MPH down to running sub150, but he hadn’t expected the reckless stupidity. He watched in helpless horror as their antics forced one of his racing buddies, a French racer named Fergus St. Germain airborne.  Jamie corrected hard to avoid the projectile parts which were taking aim at his helmet and Fergus struck the side barrier, missing Jamie by millimeters. Jamie watched as the car flashed over his head and then lost sight of it. 

 

“What happened?” Jamie demanded. 

“Hit the barrier.” Jamie snorted at Murtagh’s no-nonsense reply. Murtagh switched the com to universal, knowing Jamie was close to the lad, allowing Jamie to listen in. Murtagh didn’t mention the fact that the car was resting upside down and there had been no sign of the driver. 

 

“Fergus, copy.” A tense two second pause. “Respond, over.”  A static noise and then a string of cursing in French. 

 

“Save it, can you get out? We don’t have you on visual.”  A tense pause. 

 

“I’m stuck.” 

 

“Get unstuck, your ass is on fire.” 

 

“Merde my spanner! Where---” 

 

Jamie’s heart sank and his eyes floated for a half second to the spanner he insisted be locked into position on the steering wheel. The difference between life and death was how fast you could clear the cockpit even if disoriented and hurt after the crash. Jamie only became aware of the fact he’d been praying when the stream of Gaelic in his head was interrupted by another transmission. 

 

“He’s out, but he needs a ride.” Code calling for EMTs and an ambulance. Not good, but he was alive at least. 


	7. Present- Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another dastardly villain enters the picture....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt our regular beach reading schedule to bring you a mid-week holiday bonus chapter.....regular posting returns Saturday....

#  “Wake ye up now, lass, we’re here.” Jamie said with a little tone of regret. He’d been enjoying the silence. She’d conked right out the second the car hit highway speed and stayed out the entire way to Lallybroch. Though not still, Jamie had observed. The woman was restless even in sleep. 

 

He noted with no surprise that Claire came awake the same way she went through life --- with a crackle and zap of uncontained energy.  Her head shot around as she tried to figure out where they were. She’d slept through her first look at the country she’d travelled hundreds of miles to see. 

 

“This doesn’t look anything like Mrs, Baird’s B & B,” she said doubtfully.

 

“Och,  weel, ye seemed so concerned wi’ pinching yer pennies, I thought perhaps ye may prefer to stay here instead,” and with that, Jamie bounded out of the car. 

 

Claire hesitantly opened the car door and stood, she knew on some level she should have been concerned about finding herself in a far corner of the highlands alone with a man she’d only just met, but it was impossible to think of misfortune while standing in that beautiful golden courtyard. The place was magical and she found herself completely at ease, so much she was unable to stop herself from indulging in a long,  luxurious stretch. When she turned her head she noticed Jamie standing stock still (not that that was anything new) watching her. She gave him a contented smile, turning to a surprised “oh” as she focused on how his throat moved when he swallowed. She shifted her gaze back to the house. 

 

The home was one of those one of those period-perfect structures that somehow weathered the test of time and only looked better with age.  For all that it was quite an imposing size, everything about it said home to her, a feeling that only deepened when she went exploring inside. 

 

The study was full of cherry wood bookshelves, crammed floor to ceiling, the sofas looked like they’d been stuffed by hand and in the back of the house an enormous kitchen with modern appliances, a farmhouse sink and fireplace awaited. Claire gave a little cry of pleasure as she bounded through the French doors along the back wall and into an informal garden bursting with color, flowers blooming as far as she could see and little cut grass paths criss crossing this way and that.  She ducked her head back in to find Jamie leaning against the counter just watching her. 

 

“Surely this is someone's home?” she said. 

 

“Aye, true enough, though the owner wasna suppos' ta return 'til the end of June. Ye can stay in the bedroom across from mine.”

 

“Across from you?” Claire spluttered, “you are staying here, too?” 

 

“Wheel, I canna just let a stranger wander around someone else’s home now can I?” Jamie said with perfect logic, “if ye want to spend the extra money, I’ll take ye straight to town if ye like, I just thought with yer budget being so tight ye’d appreciate free lodgings.”  

 

Claire didn't say anything but ducked back outside and started meandering about the gardens.  Jamie decided she was simply incapable of standing in one place for very long. He waited her out. Claire bounced back through the doors several minutes later to find him exactly where she left him. 

 

“I have decided to give this a chance,” she said, nodding as if to reassure herself. “Now, which room did you put my suitcases in?” 

 

Jamie goggled at her, “they are right where ye left them last, lass, in the back of the motor.  Ye ken carting heavy bags isna good for a bad back.” 

 

“Oh, Jamie, I am so sorry I had no idea you had a bad back!” Claire came at once to stand next to him. 

 

“I dinna have a bad back,” he said with conviction, “and that’s the point, no? I dinna intend to start now.” 

 

Claire waited a moment to see if he was joking but apparently he wasn’t. Still, it was a free place to stay and, given the state of her finances, she told herself she should be thankful for what he had been willing to do. She wasn’t poor exactly, but she needed to figure things out soon, as her savings had steadily dwindled since her husband Frank died. 

 

Claire had been focused on getting Frank’s cousin Jack Randall, the current Dean of the Oxford History Department, to agree to endow a Fellowship in honor of both her uncle and husband. The Randall-Beauchamp Scholars Program was Frank’s dream, the embodiment of his life’s work and that of her uncle Lamb and her uncle Reggie as well. Between the three of them, a huge collection of materials was just waiting to be added to the active archive at Oxford through the Fellowship.  

 

The unexpected challenge for Claire had been trying to dodge Jack’s increasing interest in her. She missed Frank’s company, Lamb and Reggie had been gone for several years and their loss wasn’t as fresh. All three men had been great compatriots throughout their lives, each studying similar historical time periods and building on one another’s findings. Frank had been the last of them, Lamb passing away ten years ago and Reggie four years after. 

 

Frank was on the cusp of being named Dean himself which would have guaranteed the collection’s preservation. His death had seen that position awarded to his cousin Jack, who, until he’d learned Frank would need to take a leave of absence due to his illness, had been teaching at a university in Wales. He’d offered to cover Frank’s schedule for him and things went downhill from there. Claire had never much cared for the man, he was petty and jealous and could be cruel on occasion. She would never forgive him for coming to see Frank in hospital during his last weeks of life to rub in the fact that he’d been selected as Dean. 

 

Now, Jack had given Claire an ultimatum: marry him or the Randall-Beauchamp Collection would be consigned to the bowels of the archives, and no Fellowship created in their honor. When she’d protested, Jack had laughed. 

 

“You want me to put my reputation on the line by endowing a fellowship that would require talented scholars to spend the next few semesters cataloging of hundreds of boxes of material about fairies and lost gold that all adds up to foolish wives tales? If I’m going to do that Claire, I at least get to have a wife of my own as part of the bargain.”  

 

“I’m Frank’s wife and I cannot believe you are demanding sexual favors for this. He was your cousin!” 

 

“Yes, he was my cousin and he got everything handed to him on a silver platter. Not even his sexual orientation slowed his career, especially not once he got the world’s naivest girl to marry him.  Did he even understand what to do with you?” Seeing Claire’s face blank with shock Jack laughed. “Even better, my wife will be a virgin of good breeding, impeccable manners and already connected to every member of the Oxford administration I need to further my career.  In the alternative, I could determine that the documents and artifacts collected by Frank and your uncles were insignificant and conclude all their conjectures were nothing more than crackpot conspiracy theories. That would ensure every scrap of material in those containers never sees the light of day again.” 

 

“They are not crackpot theories nor wives’ tales. The research is valid and will yield results if you would allow the endowment.” 

 

“How could I just take your say-so for it? Honestly, Claire, there is no proof that the work they did has a shred of credibility.” 

 

“Lamb found hundreds of pounds worth of artifacts using the same methods!” 

 

“Yes, but never in Scotland.” Jack reminded her. “With no evidence the collection has any value, I’m afraid the only move I can make is to take it all to storage. Its too bad that none of their whims uncovered any treasure, it would make it much harder for me to consign the lot to the dungeon of the archives.  So what’s it going to be, Claire, do I hear wedding bells?” 

 

“Frank hasn’t even been gone a year!” Claire hissed and Jack only laughed. 

 

“Is that what’s troubling you? Well, no matter, you have one month then to make up your mind. On the one year anniversary of Frank’s death, I will expect a definitive answer. Marry me and I will create the endowment, don’t and I’m afraid no matter how accurate their findings, they will never see the light of day.”  Jack said. 


	8. Past- Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Shanghai

 

  


 

Jamie turned to the straightaway and got a good view of the rest of the track.  He watched as Bonnet and Charlie converged and blocked a racer they were lapping. There was no reason to do it. On top of that, they blew through the yellow flag warning.

 

“Are they no’ going to give them penalties?” He shouted. 

 

“We got it covered.” Murtagh assured him. 

 

“This is total fucking bullshit!” Was Jamie’s response. 

 

What sealed the deal for him though was how Bonnet sped through the pit lane after lap 30, heedless of anyone else’s safety. It was absolutely forbidden and Jamie saw his front bumper clip one of the track officials who went down hard. But still there was no official response, no warning, no penalty, nothing. Not even when one of their own was injured in a completely avoidable “accident.”  It was clear that the race officials weren’t going to step in and do their jobs.

 

“Are they waiting for him to kill someone?” Jamie asked, his temper steaming. 

 

“Focus or that someone might be you, aye.” Murtagh warned. 

 

“Jamie, do ye copy?” 

 

“What, Dougal?” Jamie’s sarcastic tone bit back. 

 

“Mind yer on probation.” Dougal reminded him. “Toe the line or I’ll suspend ye from racing.” 

 

“For fuck sake! I was just having a laugh!” Jamie bit out. He hadn't really taken Dougal seriously this morning. He’d never even heard of a team suspending a driver for a prank. Besides, he was in the hunt for the championship, they’d be crazy to do anything that would hurt his place in the standings. 

 

“Ye filled my room with frogs, Geillie and I came back to the room after a romantic dinner only to them start chirping away.” Dougal bit back.

 

“It wasna even a driving infraction.Ye have no right ta---” 

 

 “And then---” Dougal interrupted, voice rising as his anger grew, “when I called ye to make sure it was only the dozen we found ye said _thirteen uncle, a dozen’s bad luck in China and I’m assuming ye found the snake, too._ We looked for _hours_ last night, laddie before giving up and having to switch rooms -- the only one available had no air conditioning and the shower was busted. I’ve had enough of yer wee pranks. Yer near on thirty, no’ a bairn. Last month, ye super glued a picture of Yosemite Sam on Murtagh’s passport photo and he almost wasna allowed into Australia. Ye threw Colum’s steel briefcase out of the helicopter before the season even started--”  

 

“Come on, Colum laughed at that -- and I did ye a favor by proving it wasna actually “indestructible”-- better to ken that before ye started selling them to the public, no?” Dougal refrained from pointing out that 99.99% of their customers wouldn’t be in a helicopter in the first place, let alone suffer the misfortune of having a suitcasicidial maniac for a seat mate. 

 

“When are ye going ta learn there is more to life than having a laugh and getting yer ass to the next race? Ye crashed the new prototype MacK5 two months ago--”  

 

“Christ, it was an accident!” Jamie protested. He had been distracted by the untimely arrival of Annalise De Marillac, an ex-girlfriend of his, who showed up to watch Bonnet --of all people ---test out Sandringham’s new brake system. “Ye saw the tape, those fucking geese flew straight at the car!” 

 

Now Dougal was shouting over him, “Then ye got suspended from Twitter for calling that reporter ...well, dinna remember what all ye said but it ‘twas bad enough yer account was frozen, and instead of _Mac Dubh_  as the trending hash tag it was _Mac Don’t_ and I dinna wish the lecture I got from Colum about that on anyone, even you. So ye wilna be trying my last nerve, if ye ken what’s good for ye.”

 

“I wasna suspended for that, though he is a wankstain of a fuck-nugget and I’d tweet that again, I’m no’ sorry a bit. I was suspended for giving out his personal cell phone number and inviting the public to let him know what they thought of his misogynistic, sexist coverage of Rachel Hunter. Ye ken fine its hard enough to get women into this sport, the least we can do is have their backs!” Jamie exclaimed. 

 

Just then Rachel herself came into view. Jamie watched in disbelief as Bonnet rode her tail while the Prince pulled in front of her car then slammed on the breaks.  Only by sheer luck and lighting reflexes did Rachel manage to avoid a crash but she was out. Jamie vaguely heard Murtagh shouting at him to focus on his own race, he also heard Dougal’s voice but had no idea what he was saying. His blood ran ice cold in his veins. _Don’t get mad, get even,_ he told himself. 

 

“Uncle?” Jamie broke in with a deadly calm that shut them both up. “I was just kidding, there was no snake.”


	9. Present-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I double dog dare you!.....Or the chapter in which things take a sudden turn.....

With a sigh, Claire went out to the car and hauled her bags back into the house. If she had expected him to take pity on her, she soon realized that for the lost cause it was and found herself carting her luggage up the grand staircase and down a long hall growing more peeved with each step, undecided whether to pitch a fit or throw herself a pity party, until she opened the door to her room. 

A bank of windows filled the room with the view of the garden, golden in the soft light of the late afternoon and her soul was instantly soothed. In a much better frame of mind, Claire put everything neatly away in the dresser, closet and bathroom and then ventured back downstairs. She found Jamie standing against the same kitchen countertop, but sideways and a good portion of his back was turned toward her. He had put a wireless headset on and was speaking at a fast clip, head bobbing up and down a  bit and every now and then clicking a screen so full of colors it made her wonder how he could actually see anything. He was moving with an animated quickness she had, before now, thought him incapable of. 

The sound of the grandfather clock startled Claire. Jamie somehow caught her movement out of what had to have been the very farthest corner of his eye and abruptly whipped off the headset and shoved the phone deep into his jeans pocket.

“Settled in, are ye, Sassenach?” He asked.

“I know what that means,”  she told him peevishly. “Isn't it a little rude to call me names to my face?”

The look he gave her was one of real surprise.  

“Och, but that...I am sorry, lass, I dinna mean it as an insult. The name just popped in my head when I saw ye. No’ because yer English but ye looked like ye’d sprouted from another world. Shall I call you Claire instead?” He looked so utterly sincere that she knew he was telling the truth.

“No, that's okay I kind of like it. Were you catching up on some work?”

“Oh aye. Just answering some messages...but its been a full day,” said the man who she’d woken from a nap not too long ago, “and work’s done. Would you like a beer?” His look said he expected her to say no and she might have, she was not really a beer drinker normally, but the tilt of his eyebrow was a challenge and she met it full-on. 

“Absolutely! I drink beer all the time.” 

“Aye, Sassenach. Tell you what.  I’ll grab a couple of cold ones while you go upstairs and change. Meet you at the Warm Springs. Just head for the garden path around back and follow the sign,  it isna far.”

“Warm Springs? In Scotland?” She was confused.  

“Och, ye dinna ken we’re famous for our springs? Just like Iceland!” He lied and was out the door before she could ask another question. 

As she watched his disappearing back heading down the path, she wondered how a man who moved so slow could cover so much territory in just a couple of strides.   

Jamie was just starting on his second beer when he glanced up to see her winding her way down the grassy trail. The beer he’d left her on the sign post firmly gripped in her hand. As she crossed the last bend, the sun settled just behind her head, making her hair halo. 

Looking around, Claire realized the “Warm Spring” was really a small pool or maybe a large hot tub built into the natural rock and hill outcropping, matching the landscape seamlessly. It was  beautiful. 

He smiled and drank in the sight of her wearing a  modest robe in a hot pink hue that was so at odds with her sensible, non-nonsense manner that he was sure it wasn’t a color she customarily wore. He took a long, slow pull on his beer then made a gesture to her ensemble with the bottle. 

“Ye  didna bother with the swimsuit, I hope? Here in Scotland yer expected ta come naked.”

“Really? My, my, what would your friend say about you cavorting in his hot tub, leading unsuspecting women astray?” Claire smiled at his attempt to rile her up.

“If he was any sort of friend at all, he’d be all for it.  Are ye coming in, Sassenach or did ye just want to observe?”

Claire pretended to take out a notebook “observe” making a field note,“despite the cool climate, the highlander, in his natural habitat, prefers attending to most tasks in the nude.” Jamie chuckled.  

“Lose the robe, lass.” He encouraged. 

 Claire's fingers shook only a little as she untied the knot at the side of her covering, she hesitated for a second and gave him an appraising look. 

“You aren’t actually skinny dipping, are you?” 

“What do ye reckon?” Jamie challenged. 

Claire caught the gleam of good humor in his eye and deftly dropped the robe, turning around to pick up her beer (still almost full, Jamie noted with some satisfaction-- he’d known she wasn’t a beer drinker). As she swept downward, Jamie sputtered and started coughing. Claire thought she heard a muttered curse, and shot him a surprised look as she twirled around back up at full height.

 

He looked...a little shocked. Claire quickly ran her eyes down the front of her suit. Finding her boobs where they should be, she was at a loss for his reaction. It was a fairly modest one piece in a nice deep green.  She knew her ass hung out a little bit because of the high cut, but could he really be that offended? 

 

 “Christ.” Jamie quickly finished the last of his beer and tried not to replay the image of Claire’s amazing arse as she bent over. A futile exercise, he’d likely remember it until the day he died. He wanted to laugh when she tried to subtly check her outfit for anything out of place. 

 

It wasn’t the clothing, it was the hot, sexy body in it that was causing his own shorts to grow uncomfortably snug. Jamie bit his lip hard to keep himself from saying anything he would regret later. Lord, she was gorgeous as she sank into the water with a grateful moan that had his cock jumping once again.  

 

The midges were out in full force as the sun went down and he saw her swatting around her head. He held up the bug spray and gestured for her to come and get it from him (he wasn’t moving anytime soon). Her business-like stride across the hot tub made him smile. 

 

Did she not know how to take it easy? As if proving his point, she took the spray and cut another wide swath back again, applied it, put the bottle on a nearby rock, grabbed her beer and swallowed an impressive amount of it down. 

 

Jamie watched her throat move convulsively.  That was not helping him a bit. Her arms were in great shape, just a little bicep. He noted that she hadn’t shaved carefully before making the trip.  She’d missed a little patch under her arm on the left. She caught him staring at her and her eyes widened in surprise. Jamie knew she had no idea how luscious she looked.   

 

“You know, we really should be able to relax around one another.” She told him and he laughed at that. “What? Is that such a terrible thing to say?” Claire was baffled. 

 

“Ye dinna ken the first thing about relaxing. Everything ye do has purpose.” He summed up. That set her back on her heels, he could tell.

 

“Perhaps. All I meant was you don’t have to feel bad about it.” 

 

“About what?”

 

“Many men have the same problem. I am a nurse, you know.” Claire said with a twinkle in her eye.

 

 Jamie’s mouth fell open. Was she actually referring to his erection? Not that he was surprised to hear that men in her company went around with perpetual boners, look at what had happened to him just this afternoon. 

 

“You are on the youngish side for it but really, its all to do with your mother, anyway and not your fault at all.” 

 

“How much have ye had to drink? And what in the hell are ye talking about?” Jamie demanded. Mentioning his mother while discussing hard-ons at least took care of that problem.

 

“Your bald spot.” She said as if it were obvious. 

 

“My what?” 

 

“You wore that beanie all the way back from the airport, and now here we are in a hot tub and you have a baseball hat on. Its almost dark out, clearly you are ashamed and are trying so hard to hide it. I just wanted you to know its okay.” Claire said, the utter sincerity of the remark made him wonder if she was joking or not until he caught her biting her lip, and he checked the impulse he had to protest and correct her mistake. 

 

Instead he opened a new bottle, took a swig and held it out to her. He watched as she got her “water legs” and seemed to glide to his side.  

 

“Thank ye, lass, no’ every woman has the medical knowledge to accept me for myself.” He said sardonically as he held her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

 

Claire lifted the bottle to her lips, feeling hyper aware of the touch of his lips on her skin and a little thrill shot through her as she realized those lips had just been wrapped around this bottle as well. Her tongue subconsciously licked the rim. Jamie’s eyes crossed and his cock sprung back to life.

 

“So shall we firm up our plans for tomorrow?” Her innocent question took him off guard. The last thing Jamie needed at the moment was anything getting firmed up. 

 

“On a shhh-edule are we?” He drew out with all the sarcasm he could muster. If he didn’t try and get control of this situation, he had a terrible feeling he’d be waking up to a pre-printed itinerary with start and stop times and mapquest directions.  Playing the days by ear was apparently not part of the Beauchamp lexicography.   

 

“I thought to go see Fort William tomorrow, if that is ok with you? And I need to go to The West Highland Museum while we’re down there.” She handed his beer back to him. “Also, I wanted to get my nose pierced, do you know where I should go?” 

 

He’d just put the bottle to his lips and spit it out with enough force that it hit her cleavage. She didn’t seem to notice, busy as she was wiping off the spray that had struck her eye.  Jamie’s mouth stayed open in shock. He watched the foam ooze its way between her breasts. 

 

“Pardon, and no offense, Sassenach,” Jamie said when he got his voice back, “ye dinna seem the nose piercing type.” 

 

 “No?” Claire mused. He didn’t know her well enough to see the warning flash in her eyes. 

 

“Nah, I’d stake my best shirt yer not.” 

 

“You aren’t wearing one — best or otherwise. And who are you to judge? You barely know me.”  

 

“Aye, true enough. But ye seem to be more a rule maker than a breaker.” Jamie noted. 

 

“Ha! I ignore rules all the time!” 

 

“Sassenach,” his eyes were laughing but his tone was kind, “ye wouldna even cross the road at the airport without pressing the button.  Ye plan yer day by use of an itinerary.” Clearly that had been the nail in the coffin and a referendum on her entire personality. 

 

Claire knew he hadn’t meant to offend her, he was just saying what he honestly thought. But she was trying to change wasn’t she? Wasn't that part of the reason why she was here in the first place? She was determined not to fall back into old patterns and she refused to accept his assessment of her. 

 

“Well, then, perhaps you are right, not my nose... nipples it is! You’ve talked me into it!”

 

Jamie stared hard at the body parts under discussion, realized what he was doing and with a groan of embarrassment slipped under the water only to find himself being pulled up by the roots of his very full head of hair. 

 

“Ouch! That hurts, lass what are ye doing?” 

 

“Saving you from drowning.” She said as if that were obvious.

 

 Jamie shook his head, now free from his hat, like a big dog, his red curls springing up and framing that strong, handsome face. Lord, even with fire in his eyes, he was breathtaking. 

 

“In a wee heated pool?” He was incredulous. “Look, Sassenach ye dinna want any body modification.” He concluded. 

 

“Shows what you know, I’m more adventurous than you give me credit for.” 

 

“Ye dinna even skinny dip. On private property. Where there’s none ta see, lass.” He said gently but she heard the challenge in it. 

 

Before she could even think it through, Claire had whipped her shoulder straps down her arms and was flinging the wet swimsuit onto a rock, glowering at him and daring him to say anything else.


	10. Past- Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall out begins

Suddenly, Jamie’s car shot forward, the engines roaring, then the com cut out.   Dougal and Murtagh watched as the car spun in a precise 360 degree turn and slowed to a stop. Jamie didn’t seem able to steer it to the side of the active motorway.  They watched as Jamie went through the motions of restarting, Mack-F1s being one of the few cars equipped with a self-start button but the engine didn’t re-ignite. Jamie made a quick decision and leapt out of the car. It would take Bonnet and Charlie approximately one and a half minutes to lap him.  Jamie ran to the nearest track official and pulled the flag from his hands and started waiving the yellow caution as high in the air as he could, telling the official he lost all power. 

 

The official ran to the car and tried to start it, Jamie could have told him not to bother but thought having someone else attest to the problem wasn’t a bad idea. The man quickly gave up and cleared out of the way.  The caution came up. Jamie wasn’t a bit surprised to see Bonnet and Charlie both ignore the flag while everyone else heeded it. It was a glorious thing watching Charlie clip Jamie’s back end sending him high and wide into Bonnet and spinning both cars into the protective netting a half a mile down the track. Neither man was hurt, all three of them DNF’d with no change in the Championship standings.   Jamie thought he’d handled the matter perfectly. The MacKenzies, however, didn’t share his opinion. 

 

Jamie’s temper had gotten the best of him. He  knew that on some level, but he refused to even think of that in the immediate aftermath of the race.  Jamie filed an official report attesting to the fact that his power cut off and the car couldn’t be restarted. Those facts were absolutely true and accurate. There was a lot of speculation, of course, about whether Jamie  had deliberately hammered the throttle knowing it would stall his engine. 

 

Jamie had a bad feeling that Dougal was watching the  _ Mac Don’t  _ hashtag trending even before the engines had cooled. Once his official duties had been attended to, the press had hounded him.  They shouted, whined, begged, called in favors of every kind and stripe, but he refused to answer any of their questions. This was where his long standing personal policy of not trying to explain or justify his actions came in handy. He’d learned the futility of the exercise in primary school and hadn’t yet seen any reason to change his mind about it. 

 

Jamie had been trying to take a low profile with the press in recent years. It was a real balancing act-- be engaging and funny enough to be worth following, and yet not so open your private life was no longer your own.  The regulars who covered the sport were familiar faces and week in and week out it was hard sometimes to remember that their job was to create sensational headlines, generate buzz-- good for their papers, helped them climb the popularity ladder, good in a general way for the sport itself. Devastating on a personal level if you were the target. 

 

Jamie remembered the press conference after he won his first grand prix.  He had placed in the top ten for overall driver standings for the first time.  It was years ago but he never forgot it. 

 

“Do you like the new helmet design?”

 

“Och, aye.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“It keeps my brains on the inside,” Jamie responded. 

 

“Do you have any hobbies?” 

 

“I collect walnuts.” 

 

“Why’d you give Fergus St. Germain the nickname  _ Britney _ ?” 

 

“He’s so pretty sometimes,” Jamie waited for the laughter to die down, “and ye ken verra accident prone every time he crashes someone plays,“oops I did it again.” 

 

“What’s your nickname?” Someone else shouted. 

 

“I dinna have one.” Jamie lied. 

 

“That’s not true, in your Kart days, didn’t the MacKenzie call you Mac Dubh?” A pool reporter shouted out. Jamie gave him a smirk, that was digging deep in the memory banks, he hadn’t been called Mac Dubh since he turned pro. 

 

“What’s that mean?” Someone else asked. 

 

“Son of the darkside.” Fergus joked-- a close, but not quite faithful, interpretation --but given the revival of Star Wars, it had, of course, stuck. 

 

He’d been surprised when the reporter followed that question up by asking him if the Guardian Sun report about his private life was true or not. 

 

“I dinna read that paper.” Jamie deflected, and then found the paper shoved unceremoniously into his hands. 

 

He stared down at it completely unprepared and pretended to be looking at it. Sweat broke out on his forehead.  He had no idea if the article required him to turn the page or not. Thinking fast he leaned back in the chair, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he opened the paper and affected the look of a daily train commuter, flipping and turning the pages.  

 

“Well?” The reporter demanded. Jamie pretended to suddenly realize where he was and stowed the paper away.

 

“They printed it, I guess it must be true.” Jamie replied. 

 

“So nice of ye to call yer family wi’ the news, brother,” his sister said on his regular weekly call home the next day. 

 

“What news?” 

 

“That yer a Sith pretending to be a Jedi.” Jenny deadpanned. “What do ye think I’m talking about for God’s sake, Jamie! Yer the first openly gay driver on the circuit and ye didna think to forewarn us before dropping that little bomb? Christ, poor Da had to answer a million questions in kirk even before services started.” 

 

“I’m what?”  Jamie spluttered.

 

“When Father Bain offered to lead the congregation in prayer for the sake of yer immortal soul, Da told him to go to hell. Then he stood up and it was like-- I swear Jamie it isna funny cut it out; ye sound like a hyena-- like straight out of Heathers he says “ _ I love my Formula Gay son! _ ” Even Jenny couldn’t hold it in after that, Jamie had laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. 

 

“I’m sorry Janet. I’ve been on the test track all day and havena seen any of the coverage. I still dinna have a clue what the article said.” 

 

“Och, stuff and nonsense. Someone trotted out an old story about St. A’s and a certain Fraser boy who’d been caught kissing another boy in the library.” Jenny said and the light bulb went off. 

 

“Ah, well in that case, yes, that boy was certainly me. As long as Da doesna figure it out.  Ye called Willie, aye?” 

 

“No, I figured if he hasna seen it, no need to worry him. Da should’ve been told years ago if ye ask me.”

 

Jamie began only to be interrupted by the man himself. 

 

“Ken what? It was very nice of yer uncles to ensure ye carry my name wi’ ye, no’ that ye didna already.” 

 

“Da, about church? I am sorry …..I should have called and said something,” 

 

“Oh? And when would ye have done that? Are ye waiting for there to be a good man in yer life, is that it?” 

 

“Da, I have several good men in my life, yer one of them.  I am sorry I didna tell ye that I am g---”

“If ye finish that sentence Jamie, I will thrash ye, grown man or no!” Brian said, “Stop trying to cover for yer brother. I’ve known for years that the Fraser wi’ the free range lips is Willie.  Jesus God, the three of ye must think I’m a numpty.” The silence stretched out. “I’m waiting for an invitation to Willie and John’s wedding. Hopefully before my toes curl up and I’m put in the ground. And lad,” Brian added darkly, “get a PR person who can prep you better for press conferences. If ye dinna have time to read all the articles in advance for god sakes have yer rep do it for ye.”  

 

“I...I will, Da. I love ye.” Jamie told him. It was the first time his father had acknowledged his career and tried to give him any kind of advice about it. It signaled acceptance and Jamie felt like he’d just won a million bucks. 

 

But Jamie never forgot being sandbagged by that reporter and tried to never get caught out in a similar way again.  The fans were no problem, he enjoyed meeting them, especially the young ones with dreams yet to come or the older ones who had wonderful stories to tell and spot-on observations. The reporters, on the other hand, were a pack of vultures and he wished he could ignore them entirely.  To his way of thinking, life was too short to stand there feeling like an idiot while being peppered with questions. 

 

Reporters always wanted to know why he did  _ this  _ instead of  _ that  _ in lap 25 and the truth was at 200 miles per hour, he was flying by the seat of his pants, instinct, intuition, string theory- take your pick. Jamie couldn’t stand anyone yammering on and on about “process”  after the fact. The only decisions that mattered were what you did. Not what a driver  _ could have _ or  _ should have _ done. 

Winning drivers focused on the road ahead, the ones who lost were the ones who spent their time looking in the rear view mirror. That was an open invitation to all the trouble you’d just spent considerable energy passing to come back to you in spades. 

 

Jamie also found no matter the situation or what he’d said, he would be misquoted and he was tired of trying to correct the record. He’d been feeling a vague sense of …. well not dissatisfaction with his life exactly but just a sense that it wasn’t worth all the effort. Maybe that was why he hadn’t had a girlfriend for close to a year now and found that while he missed the sex, he didn’t miss the constant speculation about whether he was gay or straight, would be married any minute, was already married, divorced, separated or had a secret bunch of children squirreled away in a far flung hidey hole. 

 

If he had something to say, he said it himself on Twitter. Or, he would have if his account had been reactivated. Though to be fair he hadn’t actually asked for reinstatement. He’d been enjoying the quiet.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the responses to the press questions are based on answers from pro drivers and things they have said. F1 driver Kimi  Räikkönen in particular has a very dry wit.


	11. Present- Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She had that whisky-sipping, skinny dipping style" Atticus

Claire was suddenly very aware of the way the water slid along the curves and into the crevices of her body and of the man sitting next to her, probably still wearing his suit. She slid her bottom off the seat and held herself even lower in the water. 

 

“Will you find me a piercing place?” She asked him.  

 

 “That isna one of the services I offer.” He said. 

 

 “What?” 

        

 “Ye agreed to pay me fifty pounds a day that’s for escorting and driving ye around. Finding someone to poke holes in ye is extra.”

 

Claire had known the agreed upon fee was too good to be true. And here she was stuck in a hot tub naked. Clearly not in the proper armor to put her best foot forward for a negotiation. “Maybe we should discuss this situation more thoroughly.” She said refusing to be intimidated. “What exactly does the daily fee cover?” 

 

Jamie looked at her blushing face, he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in years. 

 

“It covers my driving ye where ye need to go-- but mind, I get to pick the route, I ken its no’ in yer nature to sit back and let anyone else lead but this is my home country and I’ll take ye my way-- I’m a verra experienced driver.” He added for grins. “If ye want me to translate for ye, as long as it’s Gaelic, French, Italian or Spanish I’ll include it for free, but Hebrew and Latin are extra.” 

 

“You do not speak six different languages!” Claire exclaimed.

 

“Well, no, I dinna. What makes ye think so?” Jamie asked scowling. “I speak at least a dozen but I dinna ken ye’d have a need for some of the more obscure ones like Chinese and Russian.” 

 

Claire cocked her head to the side, assessing him. He’d surprised her at every turn and she found herself looking forward to putting him through his paces.  “Any other services I should be aware of?” She asked. 

 

“I’ve already offered ye the room, so that’s included in the cost. But escorting doesna include my sitting around while ye get needles stuck in places ye dinna need them. I dinna carry luggage, either.” 

 

“Yes, your back,” Claire said with a small edge. 

 

He fixed her with a look, “I’ll cook, but ye eat what I make, none of this special order nonsense. The back rubs are included, of course, as they always are, but ye do yer own laundry and I get to control the remote.” 

    

“Back rubs?” 

 

“Well, just because my back is my own concern doesna mean yers isna important to me, too.” Jamie said as if that were obvious and she smiled at him. He narrowed his eyes. “I do want to be clear, Sassenach. Simple massage is part of the basic fee, but ye ken the sex is extra.”  Jamie threw out just to devil her. 

 

  Claire’s mouth gaped open. “Women pay you to have sex with them?”  

 

“What did ye think the escort part meant?” Irrationally, Jamie found himself getting offended that she seemed to doubt he could make a living in that line of work.

 

“How much extra?” Claire asked, her mouth had gone dry as she turned the idea over in her mind. 

 

He looked her up and down and then his eyes fixed on the hollow of her neck for a good long while. Belatedly, she realized how buoyant her breasts were with the jets of water swirling around the tub. Instead of sinking further under the water line, instead of hiding like a meek mouse, Claire straightened her spine and let him get a good look. Hiding her light under a bushel, so to speak, hadn’t done her any favors. She finished her beer waiting for him to find his tongue. 

 

“Uhmm,” Jamie choked out a Scottish noise while she pretended not to notice. 

 

 “Hmm?” 

 

“Since yer already here, I dinna have to factor in travel time, so we’ll just say another fifty.” 

 

“Fifty pounds for sex?” She blurted. 

 

“Geillis didna get all this straight with ye beforehand?” Jamie said with some real heat in his voice that made him  sound genuinely affronted.

 

“No, she didn’t cover that.” Claire faintly replied and she realized then exactly what Geillis had done. 

 

Only Geillis had known the true state of her marriage, that Frank had married her as a way to honor her uncle Lamb, but that he’d been uninterested in sex with her. No, that wasn’t fair. Frank had been a kind and decent person, he just wasn’t sexually attracted to all women, it wasn’t personal. Which was how she found herself, a widow of one year at 28 and still a virgin. 

 

Geillis had been setting her up on blind dates, urging her to lose her V card and move on but Claire had no confidence in herself and hadn’t really known how to act with men anywhere near her own age. Dating seemed exhausting and confusing to her, and the longer she went without pulling the trigger the bigger a deal it seemed to become. 

 

Finally, in frustration Geillis had told her,  “good lord, Claire, we need to find ye a brothel and have this done professionally. Ye need a good shagging more than anyone I’ve ever known.” 

 

Now, Claire knew her friend had orchestrated this whole thing and secretly hooked her up with a ...a…. manstitute? A gigolo? An “escort”? This must be how they did it here in Scotland.

 

“Well, yer English, yer no’ used to our ways.” Jamie seemed to be reading her thoughts. “I’m sorry Geillis didna explain this all before ye arrived. I hate discussing money wi’ clients.” Jamie added for the sake of authenticity. “Especially ones that are already standing next to me… naked. But maybe it will get yer penny pinching self more in the mood if ye ken that fifty is for the whole night, no’ just the one time.” 

 

“All night?” Claire echoed and the open look of carnal appreciation in her eyes had Jamie’s cock springing instantly to attention. Claire felt completely gauche, she had no idea what he meant. “How...ummm how many times is normal for a night?” 

 

“Well, and, I dinna want to come across as tryin’ to up sell ye here, Sassenach, but I think ye can count on a good five at least.”

 

“You normally have sex five times a night?” She said in a tone laced with a hint of incredulity. Jamie just looked at her. 

 

“I have,” he said somewhat defensively, refusing to be distracted by the thought that it had been some time since he’d had sex at all, let alone an entire evening spent burning up the sheets,“but I was actually referring to you.” 

 

“Me?” Claire felt like an idiot parroting his words. The wind gusted and her nipples, bobbing on the surface of the water, hardened.  

 

“Orgasms, Claire.” He said simply and noted the goosebumps that rose along her arms at that. Jamie had no idea why but the sight of them turned him on. Wanting to see her shiver again, he  leaned in and flicked his tongue on the meat of her shoulder, ending with a small, delicious nip of his teeth that made Claire yip. He felt her body shiver and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from groaning. He moved his mouth just outside her ear and said in a teasing low pitch, “Ye may have noticed that I dinna mind going nice and slow.” Jamie pulled away from her and gave her a wolfish smile. Some devil prompted him to add, “ye dinna have to take my word for it, though, I offer a money back guarantee.” 

 

Claire squeaked at that and Jamie laughed but the look in her eye stopped him.

 

“Okay,” she told him. 

 

“What?” Jamie tore his gaze away from her lips and locked eyes with her.

 

“I accept your offer, the fee seems very reasonable.” She said before she lost her nerve.


	12. Past- Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the beginning. Last chapter set in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick and heartfelt thank you for all of the comments you have left! I'm having a lot of fun reading along as you react to each chapter. Thank you all for taking the time to let me know you are enjoying this story.   

Jamie remembered feeling like he was on top of the world  the afternoon he’d inked the contract with MacK-F1. He’d done it-- come home on his own terms and back to his roots. That same evening he found himself in a jacket, no tie, suede trainers and dark slacks feeling that for the first time in a long time he was comfortable in his own skin.  They’d negotiated his mandatory attendance at opening and closing ceremonies and several mid-season PR events. But Jamie’d insisted on no tux, Colum on no jeans. Jamie could like with that. 

 

 Jamie didn’t mind social events as a general rule,  but the manufactured pomp of official gatherings made him feel like a prized pony being trotted out and put on display.  He was there to be seen, his interactions throughout the evening were, in fact, carefully choreographed. Despite the perception, such events weren’t put on for the benefit of the drivers but for the industry insiders.  Jamie and his peers were the bait dangled to draw in the audience, fresh money, opening new markets, attracting a wider audience. Drivers worked the rooms tirelessly, oozing bad boy charm and good manners even after three hours of smiling through sore muscles, feeling the heavy slaps on backs, hard hand shakes, smears of lipstick on cheeks if lucky enough to turn faces away in time, if not wiping lips without making it too obvious, and repetitious answers to variations of the same questions asked over and over. It was hard work and he normally counted the hours until he was free again. 

 

Jamie waived the driver aside as he came around the back of the car, he took a deep breath and reached a hand inside the passenger compartment of the limo. He gently pulled Rachel Hunter from back seat, with a “ready, babe?” and a wink that made her smile.  She looked beautiful in a soft gray full length gown and together they made their way through the gauntlet of fans, reporters and entourages. 

 

“Mac Dubh! How many other teams were in the hunt for you?” 

 

“I never kiss and tell, Brad ye ken that.” Jamie chided. 

 

“Would you return to Renault?” 

 

“Well, Jim, never say never, but I’m focused on winning with MacKenzie and that’s all I have time for right now.” 

 

“Rachel, how does it feel being the first woman in the top ten?”

 

“It feels better than sex!” Rachel shot out. 

 

“That’s no’ verra flattering, lass.” Jamie gently knocked into her side making Rachel laugh. 

 

“Are you two dating?” Asked one pool reporter for a tabloid. 

 

“Mac Dubh, when did you stop being gay?” A cub reporter asked in confusion. Jamie didn’t even bother addressing the question. 

 

Later that night, Rachel thanked him for being her “date” and filing in at the last minute for her boyfriend when his flight got cancelled. 

 

“I’m used to being relegated to the ranks of driver obscurity. They tell all us small fish to show up an hour before or after you heavy weights. I’ve never seen so many reporters and wanna bes on the carpet in my life. I’m so glad I didn’t have to face that all by myself. Is the gauntlet always like that?” She’d asked. 

 

“Aye, more or less. Ye did well, lass, no one would ken ye were nervous at all.” Jamie assured her.

 

“That was because of you,” Rachel could tell by the flush that started creeping up his neck that he was about to bat her compliment away so she gracefully let him off the hook, “I guess I must still be riding the high of turning you hetero.” Rachel joked and he laughed, which was what she hoped he’d do. 

 

“Ye dinna want to ask me direct?” Jamie’s brows wiggled.  Rachel rolled her eyes. 

 

“Why would that matter?” Rachel asked. 

 

“It shouldn’t.” Jamie replied with a small sad smile.

 

oOo

Now, just a couple of short months later, Jamie found it hard to believe he  might be facing the end of his whole season. 

 

“Pack yer gear, lad, yer done.” Dougal told him after he returned to the pit. 

 

“Dougal, ye canna be seriou---” Jamie protested. 

 

“I can and I am. I told ye it was handled, we were appealing the calls, but no, ye couldna let it be. I gave ye an order!” Dougal fumed. “Yer part of a team.  Do ye even ken what that means? It’s no’ always about the race yer running, and what ye want or ye think. But no, ye never yield, do ye? Ye do as ye damn well please and dinna stop to  consider yer actions have vera serious consequences. Ye care for naught but the next race, the next win, yer point count and ye think of that as a virtue.” Dougal spat out. 

 

This seemed such an unfair assessment of him, that Jamie  bit the inside of his lip to keep from yelling right back. Dougal? Of all people to get a lecture about being a team player from this man, nearly sent him over the edge. Dougal ran Team MacK-1 because he was one of the best drivers in the world in his prime. He dominated the off-road rally circuit with tactics that were so questionable he was routinely described as a lone wolf renegade.  He made the sport so popular that off-road rally tracks were beginning to out pace golf courses for weekend warrior types. 

 

Jamie wanted to howl. They paid him to win, not to “team build.” The very thing that made Jamie valuable was his ability to focus on the race and tune everything else out.  Jamie didn’t believe Dougal would do it- but even after he had done it, Jamie was sure Colum would step in and overturn it. So he kept his mouth shut, arranged for an early morning meeting with the MacKenzie and caught the next flight home.

 

Colum was no fool, Jamie knew that at least and having his driver at the number two spot was far more important than any interpersonal bullshit.  When Jamie said as much during the heated conversation that followed standing in the glass and steel of Colum’s corner office, his uncle gave him a withering look and neatly put him in his place by saying, “aye, too bad ye didna think the same this time yesterday. Yer suspended indefinitely --ye go back when Dougal says so.”

 

When his godfather complained about Jamie’s continuing silence, Jamie told him he was fine. 

 

“It’s no’ right, lad!”

 

“The MacKenzie has spoken, Murtagh, it does me no good to argue.” 

 

“Well, maybe no but ye could call the press and arrange to put pressure on Dougal. He always was a publicity hound and he doesna like his feathers ruffled.  Ye ken the public would be outraged if they understood what he’s done.” He suggested. 

 

“No, Murtagh I’ll no suddenly start kissing the asses of a bunch of jackals. I dinna trust a single one of them and well ye ken it.” Jamie said. “I’ll find a way to mend things wi’ Dougal, he just needs to cool off a bit. It will be fine, dinna fash.” 

 

 Despite trying to project a calm exterior, Jamie was worried. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and he could think more rationally, Jamie was up to his eyeballs in regret. Dougal had taught him to be a driver. He had been raised on that man’s tactics and playbook. Jamie hadn’t changed and tried to ignore the clenching in his belly that came when he tried to think of what might appease his insane kin. What the hell was Dougal up to?  Everyone knew this was his year. If he missed Monaco, he’d be lucky to get a spot on any team, let alone return to the sweet ride he enjoyed with MacK-F1. Then, what? 

 

Jamie refused to even consider not getting back in the driver’s seat. Dougal was accurate in his observation that Jamie gave all his attention to the race he was running. He’d had no Plan B at 18 and now at almost 30, nothing had changed. Jamie’s only goal was still to get himself to the next race. If not….if not….He was having trouble breathing and he pushed the terrifying thought away.  What if there was no next race? 

 

No. That wasn’t going to happen. Jamie couldn’t afford to be distracted. He needed to remember to keep his eyes on the prize. Monaco. For Monaco, Dougal had promised they’d repaint the car using Fraser colors. Jamie wanted to weep even thinking he might have thrown away his chances. He needed to figure out how to get back into Dougal’s good graces and get himself back in the driver’s seat.

 

Five years ago, Brian got the flu. Jamie fielded a call from Jenny telling him not to worry, he was on antibiotics and she was taking him to see the doctor for a follow up. Three days later, Jamie was in an ICU holding his Da’s hand and begging him to keep breathing. 

 

He thought they’d have more time, ridiculous considering the fact they knew all about the vagaries of fate. Jamie hadn’t cried when his mam passed, but as he listened to the little beeps of the monitors, felt the paper thin skin on the back of Brian’s hands, the tears began running down his cheeks. His father started struggling with his oxygen mask, Jamie thought he must be confused and kept trying to secure it back in place, finally his father pushed against Jamie’s arm to stop him and yanked the mask down.  

 

“No, this is more….” he wheezed, “im...portant.” Jamie’s gaze locked on his and the hairs on his arms stood straight up, “proud of ye.” Brian’s voice came firm and certain.  He reached his hand out and Jamie let out a surprised breath when Brian’s fingers closed around the pendant that Jamie still wore every day, seldom taking it off. “Ye ken? Always.” His father told him.

 

Jamie’s mouth fell open as he realized it was Da who’d had the pendant remounted, and all this time he thought it was Dougal. Jamie felt his throat burn with emotion. 

 

“ _ Christ, ye stubborn old goat, _ ” Jamie thought as he  batted his tears away. “ _ ye couldna just give  me a hug and wish me well like normal folk, could ye?”  _

 

“Went to Barcelona… Colum said...for Ellen, don’t be an ass.” 

 

His first F-1 race, and his father had been there, never saying a word.  A watery laugh fell from Jamie’s lips and he realized that he’d never told his father his dream. Doing so now seemed like the most important thing in the world to him.

 

“One day, I’ll win the whole season, Da, I can feel it in my bones and I’ll do it driving a car covered wi’ Fraser colors.” He vowed. 

 

“...would be grand, yer mother would ha’ loved….” Brian smiled then and it was the last time he ever did so for any of his children. 


	13. Present-Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racers, start your engines....

 “Er, Just so there’s no misunderstanding though why don’t you tell me exactly what to expect.”

 

“To…expect?” Now Jamie was the parrot. 

 

“Yes, what is the normal process, is there a form I fill out?” Claire ignored his chuckling breath and refused to make eye contact, turning her body slightly away from him as she spoke. “I’ve never had sex,” Claire hesitated a second before adding, “with an escort before.” Seeing Jamie biting his bottom lip in an effort to keep a grin off his face, she added in a little huff, “I’m sorry if I’m not as sophisticated as your usual clientele.” Then she turned back to face him and waited until they were making eye contact. “I don’t seem to be very good at this kind of thing. The universe has a perverse sense of humor.” 

 

“Aye, I’ve felt that a time or two myself, Sassenach.” Jamie flashed her a quick grin,  tempted to look around for a hidden camera, half-convinced this whole thing was an elaborate practical joke set up by Geillis and his uncle as payback for the frogs.  

 

He needed to figure out how to gracefully extricate them both from this ridiculous situation before he ended up giving Dougal all the ammo he’d need to nail his hide to the wall. If his uncle got mad enough, Dougal could keep him grounded until his contract ran out. His hands started to itch. Seeking distraction, Jamie turned back to Claire.  “Tell me why ye think the cosmos are laughing, Sassenach, if ye dinna mind?” 

 

He saw her pause for a moment and then shrug her shoulders in an “ _ok, here goes_ ”gesture. 

 

“You must hear all kinds of stories in your line of work.” Claire said.  It was more statement than question but Jamie nodded anyway since that was true enough.  “Mine is nothing you haven't heard before, I suppose. I was married before.” Claire cast her eyes sidelong at him, but there was no visible reaction.  Either he really had heard it all, or Geillie had smoothed the way by telling him a little about her. “He had been sick for a long time and passed away a year ago.” Claire’s voice was soft but devoid of any sharp edge of grief, as if she was relating events that had happened in another life. Still,  Jamie thought he might have found the path to safer ground, and he seized on it. 

 

“I’m sorry, Sassenach, ye must think me ill mannered--- ” He said and began to rise, intent on making a beeline for the exit. He didn’t even manage to get to a full standing position. 

 

“No!” Claire cried out, her hand stilling him at once. “That’s just it, don’t you see?  You haven’t been discourteous-- well, aside from the luggage, that is--” She nudged his arm playfully and he smiled. “Nor overly solicitous, either.  You have no idea how nice it is to have someone-- a man specifically-- treat me like a real person. The thing is...what no one ever tells you….what you can’t really prepare for is what it is really like to be a widow. Even if you know it's going to happen, when it actually does its still a shock and you feel suddenly cast adrift.  You get by being numb for awhile...but then later you get to this place where you realize you have a choice.”

 

 Jamie felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise up and he knew for a certainty she’d never shared this with anyone else. 

 

“You can either let the current of loss take you with it, far away from everything and everyone else or…. you accept your old life is gone but you...you, yourself are not. You become grateful to feel the warmth of the sun, the chill of a spring shower, the bite of the winter wind and then suddenly you can’t take one more moment of being numb. Its ...well, like when your foot falls asleep and you shift your weight? Then your body is on fire, your nerve endings zinging. Life  goes from shades of gray to full Technicolor. Then you have so many emotions that can’t wait to burst out of you but nowhere to put them. And the longer you stay suspended, balancing on the knife’s edge between moving on or retreating back, the more essential it becomes for you to connect with someone, even for a short period of time.”  

 

There was something unspeakably raw in Claire’s eyes and Jamie held his breath. 

 

“Otherwise,  the only thing you feel is emptiness, and that is…..” Claire watched the ripples in the water for a moment and couldn’t finish her thought. She took a deep breath and met his eyes once more as she deliberately injected a light-heartedness into the tone of her voice. “Here's the thing. I know what I need but I can’t seem to… things don’t end up...if you must know, it seems I’m not very good at dating and whatever luck I have is all bad. Weird widow vibes or something.” Jamie’s brows rose in surprise. Claire smiled. “I’m not kidding. You haven’t seen true speed dating until you say the word _widow_ over drinks.” Jamie chuckled, sensing her need to steer their conversation to new ground.  “As vexing as it is to be dropped like a hot potato mid-date, sometimes the ones that stick around are worse-- all solicitous pity.  I really do think I must be some kind of schadenfreude magnet.” Jamie snorted, his Sassenach had an unexpected sharp tang to her tongue and despite the odd subject matter, he was charmed anew. “If by some miracle, my date manages to stay past the appetizers and we miraculously aren’t wallowing in misery by the main course, then by desert my date invariably decides that I must be a fragile piece of glass.” She gave him a look full of amused disbelief. “I mean really, when was the last time anyone had fun playing with something that might shatter into shards?  And every date circles back to the same ground, and I would give anything to be spared all that drivel about _am I sure,  do I want this, am I ready,  its not too soon? --a_ n emphatic _no_ to the last one, and _God, yes_ to the first three,and for quite some time, by the way.  The need to touch and be touched is our most basic human instinct.  Why should I be ashamed to admit that is something I need, too? Why  must I justify it?” Claire told him and his shrug of acknowledgment had her nodding in agreement.  “A straightforward transactional arrangement seems like the perfect solution, and best of all it comes without judgments, or assumptions, or unspoken expectations hanging in the air between us. Is it really so wrong to just want to enjoy being with someone and know that once I return to Oxfordshire, I will be able to move into the next phase of my life without this hanging over me.  I just ...”

 

Claire broke off at Jamie’s chuff caught on an exhale. He had a look on his face she couldn’t quite interpret but suddenly recalled his inability to do anything quickly and worried that it might take  time for him to catch up. She hoped not, the longer she stood there with the pulse and swirl of the water between her legs and the cool evening wind caressing her nipples, the more she really wanted to get to on with the  _escorting_ part.    

 

Jamie’s mind, had, in fact stopped working. He was a right wee idiot, never imagining she'd take him seriously. He’d even joked about it at the car park when she told him Geillis had arranged for him to be her tour guide ... _“its just that when ye said services I was thinkin’ ye may have had somat else in mind, ken, and fifty pounds a day wouldna come close to enough for that!”_  

 

Before Claire had started to talk about what her life the last year had been like, Jamie had no intention of keeping her in the dark. He thought he'd cook her dinner first, be charming and encourage her to drink a few glasses of wine and wait until she was nice and relaxed before coming clean. Because even though Geillis had pranked them both, Jamie wasn't about to do anything that would cause him further trouble with Dougal. And besides, he really was happy to squire her around the highlands- as a friend, though, and nothing more.  

 

But after hearing her words, feeling the undercurrent of emotions behind them, Jamie understood what she needed. To feel like you belong and matter, and most of all for connection. But Jamie knew it wasn’t just to someone,  but she also needed to piece herself back together. So many times in his life, Jamie’s mind betrayed him-- he couldn’t get his brain to work like other people. All he had, the only thing he trusted were his instincts.  Part of what made racing so perfect for him was it allowed him to think with his body. Claire was an over thinker, he knew, and yet he'd seen the way she moved. She had it too, that physical presence in space but she'd been cut off from her body and had been missing that elemental link. 

 

Trapped in uncertainty, she couldn’t move on, unable to move on, she was trapped in uncertainty. Weird widow vibes indeed, not just the men, either, he thought. Claire had tied herself up in knots. 

 

Jamie saw her shivering and knew it was excitement, not the breeze, that lovely pink blush of hers had creeped all the way to her face by now. He might not be an escort, but as he stood up and moved in close to her, he caught the flare of her nostrils, and reckoned he was still him, after all, and it wasn’t his title the lass was after.  Whether he was a driver or an escort didn’t matter. She knew his name, his family, hell, she was sitting in the hot tub in his home and all that mattered was she’d picked him. His gut clenched as he made up his mind. He felt like he was shooting down a straightaway, the rush of speed exhilarating. 

 

“Go on Sassenach, ye only just what?”

 

“Just need to know what happens next. Does it go in a particular order? And speaking of which, you’ve already told me how you feel about special orders, but what if I don’t like something?  What happens then?” 

 

Claire knew Jamie had no idea he’d been hand selected by Geillis for this virginity intervention and yet his eyes seemed to read her like an open book, like he knew all her secrets and still wanted her.  Jamie saw how uncertain she was...almost like...even now she was afraid he’d turn her down. Were all Englishmen right idiots? She was beautiful inside and out and while Jamie Fraser held no degree, he was no fool.

 

His eyes flicked briefly lower, admiring rosy color staining the valley between those luscious breasts and then traveled up, locking on her siren lips. He wanted her more than anything else, except maybe getting back on the circuit. He couldn’t do anything about the latter ...but this woman, standing tall and proud and aching with want and need? That, he could fix. Jamie wanted to kiss her, and make her go weak in the knees, steal her breath and hear her scream. She looked so achingly awkward that Jaimie couldn’t help but reach over and put his arms on her shoulders. He used his hand to tilt her chin up to face him,  taking extra care to keep his eyes on hers and his body separated by a good 6 inches of water between them.

 

“I have a strict policy against forms, it kills the mood.” He said with a lilt in his voice. Claire took in the good natured quirk if his lips and the amusement shining in his eyes. “Besides, it’s my experience that you shouldn’t prejudge whether you like something before you’ve even tried it.”

 

“Like what?” Claire asked  in a hushed tone. He saw a new hue creeping up the column of her neck. 

 

“Like being spanked, or tied up, having me wear a cock ring that sort of thing.”  Jamie said, back to vexing her for the hell of it. 

 

“A cock what? Wait…women ask you to tie them up?” For a widow, she seemed very naïve.

 

“Ye ken you’ve hired a professional?” Jamie reminded her feeling his body react to all the naughty things he couldn’t wait to try with her. He boldly ran his fingers up her arms, and played them across her collar bone, viscerally reacting to the tingles that raced across her skin once more. He blew cool air across her skin and pitched his voice low. “Remember,  my only priority is yer pleasure. There is no agenda except making ye feel good.” 

 

“Oh,” Claire practically cooed, not only the pictures his words were painting inside her head but the feel of his hands, now resting against her rib cage just beneath her breasts.  

 

“Tell me what ye want, Sassenach.”  Jamie’s intense stare had her sex puckering up and begging for attention. “Yer in good hands, verra, verra good hands.” Jamie flicked a thumb lightly over her nipple. 

 

“Touch me again,” she panted.


	14. Present -Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing finer than a slow walking, dirty talking man (I think this round scores fairly high on the smut meter)

Chapter 14

 

Jamie parted his lips, intending to tell her what her words were doing to him, but he could see that same current ran hot in her veins, too. Hoping to hide the way his fingers trembled, he used his palm, trapping the full weight of her breast against his roughened skin, listening to her sigh with satisfaction as he moved in slow, deliberate circles. He released his breath, liking the way it made her shiver. T _hat what ye had in mind, Sassenach_? But it was his eyes that asked the question and she gave a shaky nod that had him reaching his other hand behind her back.

 

Claire let out a lovely ripple of pleasure. She rolled her hips in echo of his rhythm. Jamie found each knot of tension in the muscles she’d forgotten were sore and eased them one by one. His face was so close to hers that her lashes fluttered with every soft caress of exhalation against her cheek. The open appreciation she saw in his eyes made her feel beautiful. She stared at his mouth wondering whether the velvet softness of his lips was just her imagination.

 

He was using both hands now, applying pressure in measured strokes as he meandered more or less in a leisurely line downwards, heedless of the devastation he caused in his wake. She was on fire, caught up in the sensations she had no names for only a need for _harder, deeper, Christ, faster_. So instead she used her fingers and gripped his upper arms, digging her nails into the firm flesh underneath. She swanned her neck up to him, hoping he’d take the hint, her body unconsciously moving and swaying towards him almost, but not quite, touching. This time when she clenched down on his arms she couldn’t stop her low, pleading whimper of frustration. There were too many things swirling inside of her, aches she didn’t know how to feed. When she heard him make a growl at the back of his throat, her knees went weak, for he felt them, too.

 

Jamie’s hands jumped from mid-back straight to her rear, taking a good handful in each palm, jerking her to him and throwing her off balance. The instant shock of their torsos meeting, the heat of him against her chilled flesh overwhelmed her. _Kiss me_ she urged him silently and pressed herself tighter to him, letting out a startled cry, skittering back on her heels as she came into contact with his erection. Jamie’s hands fell away at once, allowing her to stand under her own power.

 

He already missed the feel of her in his arms, and tried to reconcile himself to the loss, believing she would surely come to her senses now and call this whole thing off. His heart skipped when, instead of pulling away, she moved back against him. Her hands hesitated a moment but then she grabbed his wrists, pushing them behind her back firmly slapping them against her bottom and fixing him with a look he had no intention of ignoring. He rocked her into him, feeling the absolute pleasure of her body on his once more. His fingers kneaded against her rapidly warming skin, but his brain cataloged each new response, filing them away for later use, trying not to get distracted by the way her mouth panted those wee sounds.

 

“My lips have been waiting an age to get to know yers.” Jamie only knew he’d said it aloud when her lips curled up in laughter.

 

“They have?” Claire couldn’t keep the giggle from her voice but loved watching Jamie swallow and nod, the way his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Maybe they don’t have a lot in common, what happens if they run out of things to talk about?” She teased.

 

“Only one way to ken for sure, Sassenach, if you’ll permit?” He saw her head nod once before threading his fingers through the curls that dangled along the back of her neck.

 

He resisted the urge to twist tightly and for a spiraling moment wasn’t in control. His baser instincts urging him to spread her knees far apart and take her fast and hard, until her saw her shatter and heard her scream. He pressed his forehead to hers and felt her trembling as she waited in an agony of anticipation. In the space of the heart that beat between them, he regained his focus.

 

It started off with faint brushing along the sexy curves of her mouth and he savored each taste. He teased her mercilessly, moving in for the kill, then backing away to explore something else, then returning to savor a wee morsel. Jamie wondered how long she would hold out before taking over. He kept her distracted by discovering all her hidden erogenous zones with sure fingers that played and delayed, determined to make this kiss worth her restraint. Impatient Claire noises rose from her mouth as he gently kissed her neck. Her chin tried to pry his head back to her lips but he wasn’t done taking initial inventory. She whispered a soft _please_ and he decided to give in a little, starting at the other corner of her mouth this time and feathering his way back to the middle again.

 

Just as he made up his mind to surrender and deepen the kiss, Claire beat him to it and flicked her tongue first, brushing past his parted lips. Jamie’s head snapped back, as if he’d gotten a shock. Claire thrilled to see such a reaction but had no idea what to do next, what he might like, where to touch him. She should’ve asked, but her disobedient tongue refused to listen and went rogue, capturing his mouth once more. _God that was amazing!_

 

“Wh..what did ye say, Sassenach?” Jamie sounded a little husky and he chuckled when she tried to recapture his mouth. “Ye like the kissing, then? Ye need some more?” He dodged his head further away and made a grunt of amusement at her disappointed cry. Her eyes narrowed.

 

“So far, Mr. Fraser, all I know for sure is that I like it when I kiss you .” She told him. Bloody arrogant Scot! “As the expert here, shouldn’t _you_ be the one kissing _me_?”

 

“Och, yer doing just fine, lass. The only way to relearn it is to practice. Dinna give up now, Sassenach.” He gave her a wry grin that started off amused but then she felt something spark in him and he inhaled deeply, this time his smile did something that made her insides melt and she didn’t care whether he was goading her or not.

 

“Never a chance.” She whispered and ran her tongue over his lower lip.

 

Jamie relaxed, his body light under the water, and she floated above him, content to have her setting the pace. As with everything else in his life off the track, Jamie was in no hurry and even Claire seemed to be blessing his lethargy for once. They learned how to move together. Her mouth was petal soft, growing bolder as she swirled against him, exploring his shallows, making his heart pound when she moved to his depths.

 

The warm slide of the pool made the encounter feel a little surreal. The sun had gone down and the only illumination came from the solar lights marking the Garden Path and the twinkling of the stars that were just beginning to show. The touch of her hand between his legs, coupled with the feel of his tongue being firmly sucked into her mouth, turned him to jelly. He was prevented from drowning by the solid edge of stone against his back.

 

“Sassenach.” He groaned, standing up so his hands could return the favor, playing with her jiggly parts. Claire loved having her ass squeezed, judging by the moaning in his ear. “Jesus, woman, yer ass is so round and full. My hands want to live right here forever.” Jamie slid his fingers everywhere , Claire had never been touched like that and couldn’t help her response. Jamie palmed both sides to get her to make that noise again, the one that shot straight down his throat.

 

“Oh God, Jamie, that’s——“ the rest of her words were lost on a moan and she looked him in the eye, mouth still open.

 

Neither of them was able to shift their gaze, the ambient light casting just enough of a glow for them to see one another clearly. Out of nowhere, his hesitant Sassenach pressed her thumb against the teeth of his lower jaw, and she kept eye contact as she ghosted her lips against his open mouth.

 

“Don’t stop,” she whispered urgently, still staring at him.

 

It was the sexiest thing a woman had done to him in a long time. He nodded and held her body firmly again his, wedging his leg between her thighs and encouraging her to grind against him. He slowly spun them around until her back was against the pool's edge, thinking to push her out of the water and make a home between her legs. Her hand dropped, replaced by that naughty tongue kissing him breathless once more.

 

Then Claire started tugging on the waistband of his shorts, the knot impossible to work free with a simple pull on its ends. She gave up and ran her hands down the backside of his shorts and gave him complementary squeeze on his bare arse, but her fingers were restless.

 

“I want to feel you, too.” She whispered and peeked up at him through downcast eyes. Jamie chuckled, refraining from pointing out the obvious. “Without cutting off arm circulation to do so.” She added shifting in frustration against the fabric mesh of his suit.

 

Jamie ripped at the cords and pushed the suit off, watching her watch him toss it negligently onto a bush somewhere overhead.

 

Then he anchored her to his side, bypassing a more direct point of connection because he’d been enjoying the slow build between them. She didn’t make an immediate grab, telling him she liked it too. His bum, on the other hand, was obviously fair game and she couldn’t seem to resist stroking his backside making both of them both moan in appreciation of the feel of their skin in the water as they moved together.

He danced her tongue around the ballroom and loved the feel of her hand boldly stroking him, exploring his length with avid enthusiasm. He needed to shift her focus if he had any hope of lasting. Then her fingers reached lower, tugging hard enough that he let out a surprised yip. His hand cupped hers and held her in check.

 

“For such a petite woman, ye’ve a mighty fine grip.” He breathed out and dropped his hands, causing hers to fall free as well. “Ye ken that dangly bit is attached to the rest of me?”

 

“God, I am sorry!” Claire looked mortified-- her face bright red. “I ...ummm... wasn’t that great in anatomy. It’s why I never went on to medical school.”

 

Jamie laughed softly, “Tis alright, Sassenach, you’ll figure it out in no time.” He told her confidently and distracted her by maneuvering her back to the spot where the jet was poised right behind her.

 

He kissed her in a way that made her realize he’d only been toying with her before. This, the way he seduced her mouth was an act of pure intimacy. She felt like she was a voyager discovering the territory of them and had no idea that sex could feel this way. She felt him spreading her cheeks apart and wanted to give him this, explore this side of her together. She thrust back urging his hands to keep going. He pulled up and she got her first feel of the water’s outflow, perfectly aligned with her core. Her teeth came down involuntarily against the top of his shoulder and her head rolled, boneless and heavy against him. Jamie groaned deeply, holding her open, moving with her as she embraced this new sensation.  The vision of turning her around and holding her splayed open against the jet, tantalizing; he couldn't wait to see her pulse and shake, hold her tight and watch her fall.

 

Then she rolled her hips against his newly reborn cock stand and he was captivated by the way her body arched against his. She bucked hard when he slipped his thumb along her tight center and she vibrated like a live wire when he ran his tongue experimentally over her nipple, keeping time with the way his fingers pressed against her.

 

“Oh God.” Claire said grabbing the back of his head and locking him in position. He tried to ask her a question but she shook her head vehemently. “Whatever it is the answer is more.”

 

Jamie laughed softly at her impatience and returned to the task at hand. He worked his mouth over first one, then the other nipple and she rocked her whole body against him now and her hands floated away, no longer able to focus on him. He finally lifted his head and got a good look at her. Her mouth hung open and there was a little furrow of concentration between her brows. Jamie dragged a finger from the cleft in her ass and pressed in slow circles on her core. Christ, she was so hot between her thighs.

 

She made urgent movements against his fingers, taking her hand and holding his steady. “Please, Jamie…please.” She begged him.

 

“I need to feel more of ye, now.” He growled in her ear, and sighed as her arms came around his shoulders, giving him leave to fully cup her sex in his hand and fan his fingers along the heart of her.

 

“Yes,”she thought, _finally,_ clenching him as hard as she could, needing to ride his hand but couldn’t seem to find the right angle. It wasn’t quite enough for either of them. The water, at first a lubricating warmth aiding their play was becoming a drag, making it impossible to feel her properly and denying her the friction she needed.

 

Jamie stood up, firmly placing his hands under her bottom, she gave a squeak and wrapped her legs around his middle as if she had been afraid he was about to walk away and leave her.

“Yer coming wi’ me.” He said emphatically.

Claire wished she was witty enough to make a joke about mutual climaxes but she was dangling over the edge with no way to quench her thirst. She could only nod and urge him to move. Needing his touch, desperate to feel him again. He was moving like a one legged dog on tranquilizers and she wanted to scream her frustration.

He made slow, steady progress across the pool till until they reached the stairs. Jamie climbed to the second stair and then shifted so she was sitting in his lap, almost fully above the water line. The air had a nice bite to it and he could fully appreciate the blazing heat of her body against his. Both their nipples were sharp little points, which they felt when he rocked her against him firmly. Her weight felt quite heavy draped across his lap and Claire became aware of her lack of grace outside the water. 

“Go on, Claire, show me how ye make yerself feel good.” She looked so adorably confused for a moment that he had to kiss her, thrusting his erection between them, then leaning back, resting on his elbows in open invitation.

Claire watched his muscles rippling across his chest and shifted her gaze upwards, seeing his lips parted in anticipation. She rolled her core against his cock. He moaned and his eyes closed into half slits. Her hands clenched harder where she balanced against his shoulders as she rocked.

“Aye. That’s it, lass.”

Claire moved against him focused on the place between their bodies, shamelessly grinding and losing her breath. Her shins and toes were still in the water but the rest of her was dry, well, almost. Outside the water, it was impossible not to be aware of how wet she was, impossible to ignore the sound of smacking as she rode in determined circles. She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed or turned on, especially when Jamie said, “Christ, ye feel so wet already, what must it be like when ye come?” Her gushing response so pronounced that he had to have noticed.

 

Claire gasped, praying for the Earth to swallow her up but Jamie just chuckled, “I canna imagine the fun we'll have once we get ye into a proper bed, Sassenach.”

 

He canted his hips up. Claire let out all the air trapped in her lungs and slid herself up and down his length, fascinated the rigid steel of it. Oh how she wished she could take a moment to explore him, she had years of curiosity built up but her own hunger took over and she was mindless in her need. Jamie repositioned himself so his mouth could fasten over her deliciously bobbing nipple, the moment his tongue flicked against her sharpened point, Claire’s back arched and her nails dug into his shoulder.

 

“Please ...please Jamie….” She rose up, intending to take him inside but he stopped her.

 

“No condom, lass. Just ride me to yer finish.” He encouraged.

 

Claire wondered how she could’ve been so thoughtless, protection never entered her mind. It should’ve been a mood killer but somehow the idea of this man inviting her to use him for her own ends caused a surge of sexual need. Claire pushed a little away from his body and dropped her head down so she could watch. Her hair fell over her eyes and her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink. He could count the freckles along the bridge of her nose.

 

“Like what ye see?” Jamie said.

 

“God, yes, don’t you?” Claire panted out, experimenting with rocking back and forth instead of up and down. She squeezed her sex in a series of kegels and practically wept when she felt his hands anchoring on her ass, holding her tight to increase the sensation. The wet slide of them generating the perfect amount of friction. They were both breathing heavily.

 

Jamie clenched her rear and split her ass cheeks then pulled her harder into him, bouncing her along his cock, using his arms to help her go faster and faster. Sweat dampened his brow and he felt his heart speed up. She pumped, muscles quivering he felt her her sex start to swell and knew she was close.

 

“Fuck, lass,” Jamie growled, moving his hands to her knees and spreading her wider. “Christ, not yet, that’s it, ye feel so good wi’ yer legs stretched like this, I can feel every part of yer sweet cunt on my cock,” Claire moaned and he saw her abs start to contract. He kept going, “ye canna wait to give me more, can ye Sassenach? Ye want me to tie ye up in bed, spread eagle and helpless.”

 

“Jamie!” Claire wailed and he saw her teeth bite into her lower lip.

 

“I’ll settle myself between those gorgeous thighs, part yer lips wi’ my thumbs and lick every slippery inch of ye.” Claire’s legs were throbbing, and he took over the movement. “Or maybe I’ll lay ye face down and leave ye on yer knees so I can get behind ye and bury my tongue in yer bonnie round ass.” Claire whimpered helplessly, he felt the coiled tension in her waiting to spring free. “Once yer back is as slick as yer front ye ken what I’ll do wi’ my cock?” Claire’s whole body clenched and she started to quake. “Do it, Claire, I want to feel you shake so hard ye make my teeth rattle.”

 

At that Claire convulsed, and he felt her contracting against him, shuddering and crying out with the intensity of her release. Jamie’s appreciative groans echoing hers.


	15. Present- Fifteen

He held her even after she stopped shaking, grazing his lips along her forehead, pressing soft kisses into the side of her hair. She became acutely aware he hadn’t finished himself and moved against him in question.

 

“Settle, lass or I’ll do something yer no’ expecting.” He laughed, but she felt so good in his arms, he didn’t let go. 

 

“Did you not like it? Is that why you didn't, ah, finish?” Claire wondered. She felt him turn so he was looking directly at her. 

 

“Have ye lost yer mind, lass?” He said with slack jawed incredulity. He almost cracked a joke about his professionalism, but he was so moved by the experience that he couldn’t bear to taint it with a crude jest. “To feel ye rouse like that-- at the touch of our bodies, the sound of my voice-- and watch ye fly ... Do ye no’ ken how beautiful ye looked wi’ yer head thrown back and yer mouth…” his voice roughened to sandpaper and he pressed his lips closed. Jamie’s balls were throbbing and talking about it wasn’t helping one bit. “Ye feel right laying here in my arms, I dinna need anything  more.” 

 

Claire blushed furiously. Customer service was one thing, and no doubt he was an expert in flattery, but she also knew he was being utterly sincere. She had no idea what to do with the kind of man-- professional or not--  who took that kind of pleasure in someone else’s orgasm and then willingly revealed his most private thoughts about it to her. At that she snorted and Jamie looked down at her, one brow raised. “Midge flew up my nose,” she lied as his lips quirked and he rested his head back on the pool deck. What she was going to do with him was keep him in bed for the next two weeks and enjoy every single second of it. She had a decade of things she couldn’t wait to try stored in her brain and the only question was how far down the list they would get because she had no doubt he really enjoyed being with her, too.  And speaking of which, there was no time like the present to start. 

 

Claire slid gracefully off his body and came to rest on the submerged stairs.  The jets were still on and the flow of water created a gentle, but effective, current. Just as she was about to glide away, her hands anchored around Jamie’s bent knees. Jamie hadn’t expected to find her between his thighs and his confused gaze went from relaxed to sharp awareness in an instant. 

 

Claire eyed his growing erection noting that there were apparently some things Mr. Fraser could do at speed. For a moment she simply stared at it, fascinated. It had a mind, if not a personality, of its own and she was captivated by the way his cock  stirred and swayed, like it was nodding at her in encouragement. She licked her lips, it lurched closer to her, Claire pushed forward, then remembered her manners.

 

“Is touching you allowed?” She asked.  “Without a condom that is?” She gave him a coy smile, which he returned.

 

“Aye, I’m clean, I get tested regularly you must as well if yer a nurse? I was thinking more about pregnancy.” Jamie’s lips parted and he cupped her cheek, fingers brushing with gentle strokes. From the corner of her eye she caught the waggle of his cock, begging her to stop ignoring him,  inviting her to come over and play. “But lass, dinna fash its no’ nec—-” 

 

“I want to.” She had read so many books about it and she was dying to try it for herself. Claire deliberately pressed her hands against his skin and slowly pried his limbs far enough apart to make room for herself. Claire licked her lips, he had lengthened even more, urging her to bring her mouth to him.  

 

The hand on her jaw distracted her.  Jamie’s thumb traced her skin, pushing across her plump bottom lip. He let out a little yip when she tilted her head and captured his thumb in her teeth then swept it into her mouth, an echo of her earlier actions in the pool. 

 

“Oh God,” he was so fucked, she of the big innocent eyes and sharp vixen teeth.  _Of all the kinks in all the world, she’d guessed his on the first try_. The heat of her mouth surrounded his thumb. The sensation reverberating at the base of his cock.  He could feel drops of precum welling up and spilling over. If his eyes hadn’t already closed they’d be rolling back inside his head.

 

Casting her eyes down, Claire could just make out his erection quivering in frustration, slicking itself up with small drops of moisture spilling from crown to base with the roll of gravity. 

 

Jamie groaned, unable to help himself as he pushed the thumb deeper into her mouth, and it was him this time pinning her tongue down. Claire made a coughing noise, his eyes popped open at once and he pulled his thumb back, only to feel her fingers clench around his, forcing the thumb back to her mouth. Claire bent her head, inhaling on a small moan as she pressed his hand in deeper, making her intentions clear.  His cock was now a deep red, the drops welling up and over. 

 

Jamie uttered a soft noise and applied pressure down, shivering as she made that naughty gagging noise. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her lips as she worked him.  

 

Claire had always thought the idea that a man’s cock had a mind of its own a ridiculous fallacy but this experience was teaching her there was some truth to the expression after all. She was fascinated the sexual directness of Jamie’s communication. What a relief it was to not be wondering and guessing and hoping she was doing this right.  She reveled in the fact that he had no idea how inexperienced she was. She’d gone from wanting to kill Geillis for setting her up to making a note to send the woman some flowers. This was what she needed, none of the paralyzing complications of needing to be a committed couple before getting to the good stuff, freedom from messy emotional entanglements, no need to confess her virginal status. 

 

“Jesus, Claire…” He groaned as she rolled the flat, broad plane of her tongue against his finger and increased her suction. As she released him, Jamie grabbed her cheeks and kissed her, all the nervous energy he felt rolling through him. She broke the kiss and settled back down between his legs. 

 

Her hands stayed firmly on his thighs, her eyes on his as she slowly lowered her mouth and took him in, he seemed to swell even more the second her tongue touched his skin, and she couldn’t stop herself from needing to taste all of him.  Jamie spread his legs wider, Claire pushed her body up and down her fingers digging into the sensitive muscles. The delicious feeling of power and control she had read about but no one had ever mentioned the satisfaction of feeling a cock tremble with  gratitude, or the confidence gained the longer one was able to explore. 

 

She watched him, memorizing the way he looked with his lips half open and his eyes forming narrow slits and the world melted again into just the two of them.  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his cock sliding in and out, on creating tension using her tongue, experimenting with long sweeps up and down, then drawing him in deep and closing her mouth around him. She forgot to be self-conscious and simply enjoyed all the different parts of him, hard, hot, yielding, curved, flat, bumpy, smooth. Claire drove him deep into the back of her throat, her lips pushed wide as she moved from tip to base. She bobbed, fast then slow, then alternating creating a rhythmic flow.

 

She loved the way he felt in her mouth, couldn't wait to take him inside her later. The caress of the warm water over her skin almost drowning out the thrum at her core. Everything flowed in a seamless wave, body weight displaced as she rolled and deepened the pressure, sliding over and above then cresting, dropping and dragging along the flats.

 

Jamie was mesmerized by the sight of her body, released from the hold of gravity as it stretched out over the steps. She moved like a dancer, her long, lean, gorgeous legs unconsciously scissoring side to side using her inner thighs to take the edge off the desire building inside.  She was making raw, hungry noises now and the vibration made his balls clench. He knew she felt it too when her hand, this time gentle, but sure, cupped his sack. She reached one digit carefully to a spot underneath and he felt something reckless rise within. Her hand wrapped itself around him and started to pump, the movement of her wrist twisting and making mewling noises. Her obvious enjoyment of the act set him on fire.  He watched her backside clench and release, pushing and pulling in tune with her mouth.

 

“Do ye like that, Sassenach?” He hissed out, hands running into her hair.  Claire made a mmmhmmm sound and nodded, his cock grew impossibly thick inside her mouth. “I do, my cock loves it.” Jamie told her, making Claire think again of the way his erection had been communicating directly to her and she hummed her approval. “There is so much he wants to do wi’ ye, but he canna think at all when ye go down on me, yer sweet mouth sucking him down into all those hot, wet places.” Claire was using her fist to guide him deep down her throat and then she let go and used the glide of herself in water to push him back further. “Jesus….that’s so good  he likes it wi’ your tongue swirling over--” Jamie moaned as an unexpected sensation hit him. “Ye grab my bollocks like that again, lass and I’ll no’ be able to pull out.” Claire started making urgent, deliberate noises in the back of her throat.

 

 “Are ye sure? I dinna---wheest!” Jamie’s fingers tugged in her hair, not gently and she loved the idea of him losing control. She moved faster and he pressed her head, holding it down firmly. “--this ok?” He said in a desperate, low voice. At her moan of approval, his hand became solid and firm, holding her in place  as his hips started pushing up to meet her mouth. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, so close, make that wee noise, please lass. The one when ye canna take it any deep----” 

 

Claire made a moaning choking sound and relaxed the back of her throat, guiding his cock all the way down just as Jamie’s body stilled. He came in short staccato bursts groaning with each pulse, then he collapsed on his back, making happy chuffing noises, sweat pooling on his chest. He blindly reached down between his legs, making a grab for her shoulders and urging her up. Claire climbed awkwardly and a little gracelessly onto him, her water cooled body draped across his overheated one. His arms wrapped tightly around her and his hand stroked her hair.  He mumbled something she didn’t hear. 

 

“What?” she whispered, imagining some romantic line. 

 

“Christ, ye have a dirty-wee-tongue!”

 

Claire laughed, appreciating it for the compliment it was. He kept murmuring soft phrases in her ear, most of which she didn’t catch, though the thank you was repeated often enough that she eventually got it. As his body cooled and hers warmed he kissed the side of her head and urged her up. 

 

“If we dinna get inside, the mosquitoes will carry us off to be their dinner.” He observed, making her stomach rumble. He laughed at that, “Och, aye, I did promise ta keep ye fed, come along my wee vixen and we’ll see what we can find in the kitchen.”


	16. Present -Sixteen

Claire followed Jamie, eyes fixed on his baby smooth, incredibly taut arse as he rambled, stark naked, back to the house. He really was a naturalist, apparently, she smiled to herself enjoying the swing of his hips. 

 

She’d grabbed her robe but couldn’t find her suit and felt rather daring for leaving it out in the wild. By the time she’d returned to the kitchen from her shower, Jamie had thrown on a tee and lounge pants and was working on a stir fry. 

It should’ve been awkward, she thought as he slipped a blanched snow pea into her mouth. 

“Mmm, a little more sauce,” Claire advised, sending him off to fridge and spice cabinet then back to add in a dab of this and a dash of that. 

Flicks of finger and wrist from hands that had been fisting her hair less than an hour ago.She flushed a little, but not in embarrassment. 

 

It was odd, really, she and Frank had a relationship but no sexual connection, derived from the simple expediency of his desire to fulfill a promise made to her Uncle Lamb to care for her always and, at barely 18, Claire didn’t quite appreciate the implications of their actions. Now, ten years later, much wiser, Claire was not ashamed to admit to herself that she was standing in front of a man with whom she had no relationship and a powerful sexual connection. 

It was an absolute relief not to feel the need to justify why. Her lady parts sniggered _oh, honey you don’t need to askwhy ----Just look at him_! Yet, that wasn't even the main thing, Claire reminded her better self.

Once you got past the molasses spiked with quaaludes effect, he was charming and easy to be with. She must be getting used to his accent because she’d understood every word he’d said since they’d arrived from the airport. 

They weren’t ever going to have a conversation about Rachmaninov or quantum mechanics, but men like Lamb and Frank belonged to a different era and it was high time she joined the generation into which she had been born instead of having contemporaries twice her age. 

Then there was his body.  She was lost in admiration watching the ripple and pull of his back as he adjusted the burner and turned to face her. Her face flushed at the knowing look he sent her way.

Jamie held his beer out to her, smiling at her adorable mou of distaste.

“I kent ye weren’t a beer drinker. White wine?” He asked smoothly pulling the cork free with a delicious popping sound. 

“Thank God!” She said reaching for the glass, which Jamie held aloft forcing her to get close and reach her arm overhead.Jamie caught her around the middle and held her to him. 

“Dance wi’ me?” he said in a husky voice. 

“Sober? Not on your life! Besides, there’s no music.” She laughed and took the glass.Jamie waited until she’d had a sip then kissed her cheek. 

“I trust ye to keep a tune, Sassenach.” He insisted. He looked so hopeful that she couldn’t resist and stepped back into his arms. He swayed with her, cheek to cheek and Claire found herself humming a waltz, getting a little silly by speeding it up. 

To her surprise, Jamie responded by twirling her faster and faster until he spun them into a solid wall, which she discovered with a thunk. 

“Sorry, lass, I’m no’ usually clumsy.” Jamie looked her over as she peeped up at him from downswept lashes. 

“No...you aren’t,” she batted her lashes playfully, then remembering his directness out at the pool earlier, she added, “I like the way I feel in your arms.” 

Jamie's breath came out in a whoosh and he nuzzled his cheek against hers. 

“Och, aye?” He mumbled, sliding up into her and kissing her like she was the only woman on Earth and he had nothing else to do for the rest of his life.

 

From a far off distance, Claire heard a timer ping and for a moment thought that it was the sound of her body responding to his.

Reluctantly, Jamie pulled his lips off hers, “the supper...will be overcooked if we dinna….” He kissed her again. 

Eventually they made it to the table and filled in with small talk for a time. 

“Why the highlands?” Jamie asked, pushing away from the table and inviting Claire to join him for a night cap in the study. Claire held the amber liquid in the shot class, considering how much to tell him. 

“My parents died when I was very young and I was raised by my Uncle Lamb.He was an antiquarian. He loved solving mysteries, finding things long forgotten. But his favorite thing to do was look for lost treasure. For years he had limited success but then, when I was in high school, he started uncovering all these little hoards around Oxfordshire.Caches of old Roman coins, Saxon pottery and ornamental silver. He was particularly good with Viking weapons and runes. ” 

At Jamie’s small grunt of amusement, Claire continued. “I know, for the niece of a treasure hunter, it does seem odd my cupboards are so bare, but Lamb never pocketed any of the coins and jewels he found. Those always got turned over to the local authorities and he would get a finders’ fee which would bankroll his next quest.He expanded his horizons and was doing research in Scotland around the time he passed away.” 

“So yer here on a wee adventure looking for lost gold?” Jamie teased. 

Since that was awfully close to the truth, Claire didn’t so much as grin at him. She looked at Jamie, considering how much to tell him.

Geillis spoke quite highly of him, as did her boyfriend-- though he was Jamie's uncle so she couldn't rely on just his say so.Odd as it was, though, she trusted him. Jamie knew the area, had the car she so desperately needed and could even translate French and Gaelic, which she suspected might come in very handy. 

Despite his lethargy, she also couldn’t help but notice he was certainly fit enough to provide whatever physical labor she needed.Though she greatly feared they’d start off like a herd of turtles, she couldn’t do this alone. Perhaps if he understood the urgency of the matter, he could be persuaded to move more efficiently.

“In a way, yes.”Claire said, wondering if he would laugh at her outright or start to think of her as a wee dotty old thing completely off her rocker. 

Jamie waited patiently for her to say more. 

“My husband was a history professor at Oxford. Frank’s area of expertise was the 18th century, rebellions mostly. He was fascinated by the fact that the Scots, Americans, and the French all rose up against their rulers within a few decades of one another. He and Lamb had known one another for many years and after they joined the Scottish Antiquities Society, they became friends with Uncle Reggie,” Claire laughed and waved her hands dismissively. “Reverend Wakefield, that is, he wasn’t really my uncle. He was an amateur genealogist and he knew positively everyone in the Highlands. He was always collecting odd bits of arcana. People would send him old letters, family bibles, his house was filled with boxes and crammed with papers. Frank and Lamb and Reggie they were like the Three Musketeers.” Claire raised her glass to her lips. “When they got together, they would gigglelike school girls over intrigues and mysteries. The thing was, they had been working on a huge project together for the last several years of their lives. After Lamb died, Frank and Reggie carried on. Then Reggie had a stroke.But Frank kept at it. He would come up here once a month, visit Reggie and when he came back to Oxfordshire he’d disappear in his study for days on end. When we knew he was end stage, Frank made me promise to see it through. I am the only one left. It’s up to me, you see, to make sure they are remembered.” 

Unwittingly, Claire’s eyes filled with tears. Jamie gently took the glass from her hands. He hadn’t meant his teasing inquiry to make her cry.

He pulled her onto his lap and stroked her hair, soothing her with Gaelic just like he did with his race car while they were rebuilding its sensitive gearbox and brake systems. “Shh, it’ll be fine, lass.” 

“I’m sorry. I am not usually such a watering pot.” She told him. Jamie ran his index finger through her tears, cleaning her off as he went. 

“What of the rest of your family?” Jamie found himself asking to which Claire only shook her head sadly and then sobbed harder. He held her tighter to him, inviting her to rest her head on his shoulder and have a good cry. He fumbled in the side table, fished out a handkerchief and, afterthe worst of the storm had passed, urged Claire to use it.

“He’s been gone a year, I really am fine, I just hadn’t put it into words before. That I am the last man standing-- well, woman. I didn’t mean to fall apart on you. I’m so sorry.” Claire smiled sheepishly. 

Jamie shook his head, she had nothing to apologize for. 

“Frank never expected to live a long life. When he married me, he told me he’d not make it past his 55th birthday. I proved him wrong though!” Jamie’s heart was hammering in his chest.

“Ye were considerably younger than yer ...yer...Frank?” Jamie asked. 

“I...yes, I was.” Claire’s brow furrowed, really hadn’t she just said so? Maybe her explanation was getting too convoluted.

“And yer uncle...introduced you to Frank?” Jamie pushed and Claire nodded. 

Jamie could just imagine it-- hob nobbing with one another at a dusty old gentlemen’s club.The kind of place where women were only allowed in the salon, never the dining rooms or libraries;and only if they wore pearls and heels.He had trouble picturing this vibrant woman, who practically crackled with energy, spending her life surrounded by stodgy old men. 

“This trip here it’s to do wi’ something Frank and yer uncles were doing?” 

“Yes. They were closing in on solving the mystery of the Arkaig Treasure.” Claire said to Jamie’s surprised laughter. 

“Lass, the Frenchman’s Gold is no’ but a legend. Like selkies and water horses and such.” 

“It’s real.” Claire said stubbornly, sticking her chin out. 

“Claire,” Jamie said gently, realizing a fraction of a second too late that he’d likely hurt her feelings, “I dinna ken how to tell ye this, but nothing stays a secret in the highlands for long. That’s as true today as it was two hundred years ago. Whatever was then islong gone by now.” 

“Wait here a moment,” Claire told him, squeezing his hands before leaving the room.When she returned she held a very old leather bound journal, which she spread open on her lap.

“This is the deathbed confession of Neill Ruairi as recorded in Dr. Rawlings’ case book. It was something one of Uncle Reggie’s parishioners gave him decades ago when she knew the family line would end. Her only child was killed in World War II.Her will stipulated that Reggie was not to read it until the 250th anniversary of Culloden and after that, he was free to do as he liked with the information.”

Claire tried to keep her voice from being too theatrical, but the look on Jamie’s face said she hadn’t been completely successful. But it was a dramatic tale and her husband and her uncles had hoped to captivate the attention of next generation of scholars by making history come to life instead of lying in repose on the pages of moldy, dry text books with their flat recitations of dates and events. 

“Mr. Ruairi was found unconscious near Blakehouse Close in Edinburgh on the evening of July 21, 1770. By the time Dr. Rawlings arrived, the patient was fevered and retching. He was raving and delirious one minute, lucid the next. He told Dr. Rawlings that he’d been on Culloden field fighting with Alexander Grant’s men and managed to escape, taking to the forest to avoid Cumberland’s butchers. He ended up on the south side of the Loch and was nearly run down by a group of Cameron clansmen. He hid under a bunch of bracken. He said there were eight in all, each carting two casks wedged under their arms; the climb was steep. One of the men tripped and the cask hit a rock splitting open. Ruairi heard metal striking rock. There was a good deal of desperate searching by the men scrambling to recover the dropped coin and he was sure he’d be caught but no one so much as looked his direction, so focused were they on completing their mission. He watched until they went around a bend in a cliff face and lost sight of them.He was tempted to go after them but there were the eight of them and only the one of him so he waited until the sun was rising then went to have a look at where the cask had broken open. He claims he found a bag that had gotten stuck on a twig and was hidden under the leaves. He claims he didn’t go looking for the rest fearing capture by the British or being killed by the Camerons to keep their secret. His plan was to use the gold to buy passage for his family to France or Rome and get a fresh start. But he never got the chance. He told Rawlings the gold was cursed. Before he could get home, his wife and his sons were killed in a fire. He lost his home, everything he owed and then was captured trying to attend their funeral.Ruairi spent the next 15 years in prison, his land forfeit to the Crown. Too infirm to transport, he was paroled and wandered around the Highlands, never staying in any one place for long. He claims he never told another soul about the treasure.” 

“‘Tis an interesting story, Sassenach, but doesna even prove there was ever any gold at all, let alone casks of it buried near the Loch.” Jamie remarked.

“Hold on, the tale isn’t done, yet. I thought highlanders liked a good story?” Claire teased. 

“So, Uncle Reggie did as he was told and waited until the 250th anniversary of the Battle of Culloden and then opened the book and read its contents— the only person outside the family to have ever seen it. Reggie sent it at once to Lamb and Frank, who at that point had just made tenure. It also happened to be around the same time I came to live with my Uncle Lamb who was also at Oxford then, doing a seminar on excavation techniques. The three of them were convinced the story proved the gold existed and spent years gathering supporting evidence.” 

“Surely they didn’t just take the word of a fever gone auld man?” Jamie asked. 

“No, not alone.” Claire agreed. Then she handed him an old leather pouch. He opened it and gasped. “Dr. Rawlings had a twin. Also a doctor but he emigrated to America.Frank was teaching a summer class at Harvard about six years ago and Skinner’s held an auction of Colonial Era art and curiosities. Naturally, Frank couldn’t resist going as he was fascinated by anything to do with the American Revolution. I made him bid on a lot that contained a medicine box. It was a lovely thing, gorgeous lines, hardwood and embossed leather. I didn’t know what half of the instruments in there were used for, it had an old telescope, colored bottles- most of the labels long gone. It was only after we brought it home that I noticed the name Rawlings was branded into the leather near where the lock would have gone. It sat on a bookshelf as a nice little oddity in Frank’s collection for the last several years. After he died, I started cleaning out his office and I just couldn’t stick it into a bin to be forgotten again. The longer I really looked at it, the more I realized there was something about the dimensions that wasn’t sitting right. The bottom compartment should have been deeper. I kept fiddling with it and something shifted revealing a secret compartment. Those were hidden inside the lining.” 

Jamie stared at the coins in his palm. 

“Quite a coincidence.” Jamie said. Three Louis d’Or 24 mm gold coins stamped with the date 1743. Even he knew Louies were rare, ones in this condition, unheard of. 

“Mmm it is.Those prove the gold is real. Using Frank's notes and the information he and my uncles amassed, I want to retrace the steps Ruairi took, see if I can figure out how the second Dr. Rawlings ended up with those coins. Maybe that will be the key to solving the mystery of what happened to the rest of the Bonnie Prince’s gold.”

“That’s a grand notion, Sassenach, but ye ken folk have been chasing rumors and such for over two hundred and fifty years. Do ye no’ think the trail is cold by now?” 

“Perhaps, but I have to try because if I can prove the Musketeers were onto something, then the current Dean of Oxford’s History Department will endow the Randall-Beauchamp Scholars Program. If I don’t, he’s threatened to take all their papers and documents and theories about how history should be studied and put everything into the Oxford archive— mothballing it and dooming it to obscurity.” 

“And ye dinna want to see that happen.” Jamie stated the obvious. 

“I have been surrounded by academics my whole life. Who is important is dictated well after the fact and reinforced by confirmation bias. Historians interpret the facts from what has already happened and so much is lost and forgotten that it takes tremendous effort to find the real story as it was lived by the people who were there. Frank, Reggie and Lamb wanted to teach students to look at artifacts left by ordinary people. They thought that there was value in letters and diaries of common crofters and the rank and file not just the aristocrats and generals on the winning side. Frank used to tell his students to  throw away any preconceived notions of what and why and bring a new perspective to the field.Their voices will be lost unless I can get the Dean to understand the importance of the collection but the only way I can get through to him is by proving it has value—-which he is interpreting in the most literal way possible. Maybe you’re right and the gold is long gone. But I have to try.” 

Claire was getting herself worked up and realized how strident she sounded. She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “I know this doesn’t seem like much to anyone else, but it is all that will be left of my family, ever. The Dean has given me only two weeks to do this. I have to move as quickly as possible; and I need your help.”

Jamie opened his mouth to say something and she held up her hand for silence. 

“Even if you think this is nothing but a wild goose chase, can you please just pretend it will be successful? I just….I could use a friend and aside from Geillis, they are in short supply in my life right now.” Her smile wobbled.

Jamie felt his heart squeeze; he’d chase that wild goose with her, straight off a cliff if that’s where it led.He gave her a smile full of confidence, if there was one thing he was good at, it was moving fast. 

He placed the coins back into her hand and folded his around her fingers, his touch upon her fingers instantly calming them both. 

“You’ll do a braw job of it, Sassenach, dinna fash. Just tell me what I can do.” 

Claire sighed in relief, grateful she didn’t need to tell him more to get his cooperation. She certainly didn’t want to tell him about Black Jack and his sorted demands she marry him. 

Claire thought she had that well in hand. Jack claimed wanted her because she was the perfect academic’s wife. Prim and proper.And a virgin.She knew perfectly well he wanted what he thought she was. In reality, they’d never suit.All she had to do was show him she wasn’t any of those things and he’d back off. 

A radical haircut, a more youthful wardrobe, a nose piercing should take care of whatever lingering attraction he had about her looks, she was sure of it. As for his insistence that he marry a virgin, well, she’d see to that shortly, too. 

Though she’d never lied to herself and wasn’t about to start now. Jack’s demands had nothing to do with her attraction to Jamie. She wanted him, more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life; and she refused to let Black Jack occupy even one second more of her thoughts. 

“You can help by distracting me.” She told Jamie in an effort to change the conversation from such serious matters. 

Jamie’s face blushed a deep red. For a pro, Jamie seemed to get hung up on the oddest things. 

“I've been told I'm in verra good hands,” she said in a terrible accent meant to imitate him and making herself giggle, “time to prove you can walk the talk. Five, you said or my money back?” Claire’s chin came up and her eyes sparkled in challenge making Jamie look uneasy. 

“Sassenach, listen, about that. I must tell ye I’m no’ really a----” 

“I am beginning to think, Mr. Fraser,” Jamie had to bite his lip when she Fraser’d him, God, he just wanted to kiss her senseless, “that you are all chat and no action.” She admonished. 

_Wait_ \--- _all what? Why that minx_! 

“Oh I’ll show ye plenty of action if that’s truly what ye want but, Claire, ye need to know that---” 

“Cluck cluck cluuuck!” Claire imitated a chicken. “I am going upstairs to my room. I am going to take off my clothes. And you, sir, owe me more. I do have a money back guarantee.” Claire swatted his backside as she raced past him, running up the stairs. 

 


	17. Present- Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who are counting, feel free to fill out a scoregasm card and help me with my math....though I hope there won't be any complaints.

When he opened the door, she was standing in the dark, looking out the window and fully clothed.  She must have seen his reflection in the glass as he reached to turn the lights on.

 

“Leave them,” she said, tone quiet, hand beckoning, “come see.” 

 

Jamie moved in tight against her back so he could peek over her shoulder, his hands running the length of her arms and settling over her hips. A huge blood moon was on the rise. It looked like something in a movie, beautiful and surreal. 

 

“I could look at this view forever and never grow tired of it.” She said into the hushed silence. He wrapped his arms around her. Their eyes locked in the glass reflection and Claire began to sway her body into heat of his. He tucked his face against her curls to hide his smile, thinking that she was simply incapable of standing still for too long. He moved with her, unable to help himself, either. 

 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he ran his palms over her hips, then waist, coming to rest under her breast.  She seemed smaller somehow like this, or maybe he’d never noticed the size of his own hands, but his palm covered half her chest when he reached up to feel the kick of her heart. Her eyes had popped open and this time he let her catch his smile in the reflection and then slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted the mass of disobedient curls from her neck and lowered his lips. 

 

He felt her ribs hitch under his fingertips and the way she shuddered when he strummed them against her nipple. Jamie really didn't think she was the type, but as he flicked back and forth he tried to imagine a metal hoop...just there...right where his thumb was circling. 

 

Jamie was introducing her to her to parts of her nervous system she hadn’t known existed, her skin sensitive to every brush and stroke he made. The increasing slickness between her legs left her feeling vaguely awkward and completely naughty. 

 

He alternated lips and teeth and touch of fingers, a sensual dance along the firm colum of her throat that he augmented with little observations that sent the sound of his voice rolling straight through her. 

 

“Yer skin so smooth, like white velvet...ye look beautiful in the moonlight, Sassenach...did ye ken ye had wee bitty ears….”

 

She made little noises somewhere between pants and mewls that hummed against his lips. He experimented with a Scottish noise over a particularly responsive spot and she pushed her ass against his crotch in reply. Polite as always, Jamie returned the favor by pressing his solid length against her.  

 

His hands were everywhere but _there_ and even though his lips stayed north of her clavicle, he used his voice and breath and tongue in ways that made her panties pointless. 

 

She wanted to tear his hair out by the root, silently urging him to do _something_ about her soon.  Claire’s arm contracted and she anchored her hand to the top of his head, hoisting her weight in a bid to straddle the knee Jamie had been taking his time easing between her legs. Her move so unexpected that the thumb and forefinger Jamie was using to tease her other breast contracted involuntarily and her whimper rose up in pitch. 

 

“Shhh, lass, I ken ye need more.” His words made her shiver. “Soon, Sassenach.” He promised, and though he moved his knee to solidly wedge between her legs now, Jamie carefully ensured the pressure was never enough for her to satisfy herself. 

 

“Ye like that, lass?” He asked, stilling his body allowing  her to focus on the rumble of his voice alone.  

 

“Jamie!” She whimpered when she didn’t feel him pressing back against her. Jamie pulled his hips far back, denying her.  

 

Placing his mouth over her ear he whispered, “I promised ye nice and slow, Sassenach, aye?”

Her belly fluttered and she couldn’t tell if the rush to her head or between her legs was responsible for dizzy ringing in her ears.

He blew cool air behind her ear, then up and down her neck, still tingling from his earlier kisses and licks. 

“You----ah--- did…..but,”  Claire quivered as she was forced to wait. “Like… swimming …..in…” Claire tried to spin in his arms, needing his hands back on her.  

“Swimming in what, Sassenach?” Jamie tried to keep the tone playful and light but his breathing had turned ragged. 

“Pea-NUT...butta.” She wailed as his arm caught her hard around the middle and his knee worked its way back between her legs, she rode him now, not caring at all what he thought, his mindless, slow seduction bringing her to the edge of enough. 

“Peanut Butta?” He repeated. Charmed by her accent. “Open yer eyes, Claire.” Jamie was mesmerized by the sight of hazy awareness sliding over her face, watching him watching her in the window.

“Ye ken its my turn, aye?” Claire looked confused.  “To make ye feel good, Sassenach.” 

He grabbed her chin, turning her head enough to give her a kiss that left no doubt about the fact that the waiting was driving him just as wild; he simply had better discipline.

The kiss ended but Jamie still hovered over her lips, “dinna rush this, Claire,”  his eyes flicked up to hers, “let yerself be loved slow, by a man who means to take his time.” 

A wretched, helpless noise burst from her and her knees may have buckled just a tiny bit. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”  

“No, lass, just me.” Jamie laughed softly and turned his attention back to his task.

Claire listened to herself breathing like a marathoner going uphill as she followed the steady progression of his dexterous fingers in the reflection.

Button by button he uncovered the skin of her chest. She started to close her eyes but he tugged her hair sharply enough to snap them back open.  

“Watch.” He commanded, everything below her waist grew tight and swelled at that.  

When her shirt was unfastened, he used his teeth to pull off one shoulder and then the other. Claire’s hands moved reflexively to cover her bared breasts but halted at Jamie’s grunt of negation.

He touched her wrists commanding her not to hide her body from him. She sighed, and let her arms drop until the hung uselessly down by her sides. He gave a rumble of satisfaction and Claire lost sight of him as he knelt behind her. 

He took both her hands in his and squeezed in a pulse beat that her sex unconsciously echoed.

He was taking the rest of her clothes off using his mouth and she shivered when his front teeth scraped against the waistband of her pants.

Claire let out a surprised yip at the unexpected pinch of teeth on her ass, biting the fabric and a little skin. 

“Do ye want me to stop?” 

She shook her head no, if she opened her mouth she’d just be begging again. 

“Keep looking.” He reminded her and then his warm palms pressed against her inner thighs urging her to widen her stance. 

She could see her body rippling in the reflection, the small breasts, flat stomach, long graceful legs. The white of her underwear glowed in the dim light. The body she’d stared at her whole life and yet none of it familiar any longer. Flushed with passion, covered in marks-- love bites and road rash-- nipples contracted tight. 

He started at her feet and she cried out in protest. 

“Wheesht,” he told her. “I canna concentrate wi’ ye distracting me. If ye make me forget where I was, I’ll have to start all over.” 

Claire let out an incredulous noise at that but otherwise stayed quiet, catching a glint of red hair now and then as he made his leisurely way up her legs. 

Normally, Claire counted herself as blessed with her long limbs, but tonight it was a curse as it took him an eternity to reach her inner thighs. Moving upward, Jamie was delighted to find she was ticklish in that spot just behind her knee. 

He didn’t look up at her body directly, only at her image in the glass, quite convinced that was all he could handle at the moment. His fingers traced the outside of her hamstring, teasing the barest hint under the pantry line of the crease between buttock and the top of her leg.  

She couldn’t take this agony of suspense much longer. The leisurely way he covered every inch of her legs, alternating between lips and fingertips, nails and tongue, the soft tickle of his curls brushing against her, the sharp cut of his stubble, the small hums and thrums he made as he discovered something he wanted to explore further.  

He teased her by notching his chin between her cheeks and hooking his teeth against the lacy boarder of her panties once more. He shook his head making her bum jiggle.  

“Oh Claire, God, yer ass…” He complimented, pulling her back into his face, then tickling the shadow between leg and groin.  

She was so turned on-- he kept her guessing whether he would reach her core on this pass or the next, the tension building and building, making her throb with anticipation. She needed his fingers, his lips, his tongue, his cock, needed him to push and press and stroke her.  

She held her breath feeling him travel along the seam of panties and leg, his tongue licking with wanton, messy strokes. When he followed to slope of her panties from back to front, Claire couldn’t stop her hand from cupping his cheek, shifting her body sideways a bit, trying to guide him further to her center.

They both moaned at the same time. She heard him breathing hard and fast, hoping he would cave, but then Jamie took her hand in his and firmly pressed it back against her thigh, out of the way. 

“My turn.” He reminded her and felt her nod in acknowledgement. 

The shift of her body position had him kneeling almost in front of her now. Jamie tried to pick up where he’d left off. His lips traced the outside of her thigh but it was a lost cause now that his concentration had been broken. 

Safely tucked behind her, he could control the temptation, now, however, he was unable to stop his eyes from drifting to the juncture between her legs. 

The material at her crotch was soaked to near translucent. He was dragging air into his lungs, unable to move but noticing everything. The trembling of her belly, the goose flesh rising along her inner thigh, the sound she made as she sucked her bottom lip in. Her throbbing sex snug inside her panties. 

Catching sight of Claire thumbing the elastic along her hips snapped him back into action.

“No’ on yer life!” He growled.  

Her hands froze. They locked eyes and the moment stretched out and spun. 

She was aware of being inside herself but also somewhere far, far away. Far away Claire didn’t want to miss a moment, wanted to remember the wonder of each new stroke he laid down, every single word he said, every hot breath, all their sighs and rumbles, but present Claire was connected to life for the first time in months and the sensations of her body and his were too much to take in on a conscious level. 

Even though Claire would soon be laid bare before him, it was Jamie who was revealing her to both of them. She didn’t have a single twinge of fear; instead, being this exposed and vulnerable filled her with a passionate desire, making her brave enough to risk even more.

“Please...Jamie, help me.”

Her face was unguarded and her eyes clouded with the frustration of being kept on edge so long. 

Jamie shifted away from the window and tilted his head up until he was looking directly at her for the first time since starting this and he swallowed hard.

“Oh, _mo chridhe_ …” 

Deep in his belly something quivered and _finally, oh finally,_  he allowed himself to focus on her sacred spot. He’d done his best to ignore the tantalizing, carnal smell of her arousal since dropping to his knees at her feet. It hadn’t been easy. He had wanted to anchor her thighs over his shoulders and feast on her until she drowned him.

But then he would have missed this. Raw and raunchy and so fucking hot he could barely hold himself together. It wasn’t just the fact that she had drenched her panties, but the way the fabric clung and molded to her core, it was the fact that she’d stood there dripping, hot and sticky, just waiting for him to notice. Jamie took a deep breath and was surrounded. _Christ_.

His placed his thumbs on either side of her clit, causing the fabric to pull taut.  Jamie moved the two digits back and forth experimentally, unsure whether he wanted to watch his hands or her face more. Fascinated by the wet heat of her. He ran the pad of one thumb upwards, pushing her panties deep into her hidden crevices and valleys. 

“Ah God...please...I want you inside me,” she told him. 

Jamie pressed a bit harder and fanned his fingers across her center. 

“Ohhhh,” she cried out, “please!” Claire braced her hands on the window sill riding against him. 

Bolder now, Jamie turned in long, slow circles until she started to flutter, creaming his fingertips. He fastened his mouth over the fabric, pushing his tongue along the contours of her sex. Her legs shook and her inner thighs trapped his head between her legs. 

Even with his ears blocked, Jamie _felt_ the vibration of her cries humming through his body. Her panties were the naughtiest, hottest thing he’d ever smelled.

His cock throbbed now, finding only temporary relief when it pressed against the waistband of his pants. He wanted her so much his hands were shaking. Jamie fitted his lips over her sex and sucked hard, swallowing the cloth and the rush of wetness trapped there. His hands slipped upwards along the back of her legs until he held her ass in both hands and he held her tight against his face, encouraging her with deep rumbles. 

She was so wet even back here that his fingers slipped and slid straight into the crevice between her butt cheeks. She made a keening noise that he hadn’t heard before and tilted her hips in invitation. One index finger came to rest on her sweet pucker. 

Claire clenched and released her glutes picking up the rhythm of his mouth, pushing her weight backward and teasing them both. Jamie's nose burrowed into that spot just above her clit and he rubbed his face against her panties desperate to touch her, to taste her. 

Claire countered by pushing back against him with more determination, chasing the friction and increasing the pressure against his finger.  Jamie made growling noises as his mouth worked her nub through the fabric of her panties, his tongue and her body making an absolute mess of her undies and then Jamie suddenly felt her give way, his finger was tight inside her.

Jamie wrenched his head from between her legs alarmed until he realized he was barely a fingertip inside her and the expression on her face let him know she wanted more. He fluttered his fingers against the crotch of her panties until they were slick then worked his way between her buttocks once again. She made a keening sound as he slowly spread her cheeks apart. Claire flexed and rolled her hips until his finger sank up to the knuckle and he'd made a loose fist of his other hand to rub against her center. She moved faster and faster, pleasuring herself. Her eyes losing focus and her breath coming in pants. 

He hooked his finger and pulled her toward him and anchored his thumb over her clit. She was trembling. 

“Fuck, yer going to come harder than before, aye?” Jamie bit out, moving his hands, certain.

He saw her fists clench and then she shattered. Her mouth open in a silent erotic scream as she collapsed into his chest with her knees. His heart was pounding out of his chest.  

With an _oomph_ , Jamie twisted so Claire lay on the floor and he shoved his pants down, inadvertently grinding into her as he kicked them off. He ran his insistent cock between her legs pumping into the vee of her panties. Claire grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him, hard and hot, full of  tongue and lust. 

It was madness and he groaned in gratitude when her legs swept around his backside, heels pressing into his ass. 

“Harder,” Claire ordered arching up to meet him seeking direct contact. But her underwear was as effective as a chastity belt and rebuffed Jamie time and again. 

Claire groaned in frustration, thwarted by a scrap of skimpy material. But Jamie had moved beyond that feeling to embrace an unexpected dark thrill he didn’t even want to analyze.

“Oh… God...more!” She urged. 

Despite their size difference, when he lay over her the fit was perfect. Pinned, helpless beneath the weight of him; exactly where she wanted to be. Claire wiggled, teaching herself how to move under him. 

She’d understood the mechanics, but hadn’t known all the little things that came with them. How good it felt to touch a man’s body; it’s textures and proportions so different than her own. 

The unexpected eroticism of sweaty brushing against her face and the rhythm of his heavy breathing on her neck. She inhaled the masculine scent of him and took secret pride in knowing she’d made him mindless.

She was on fire to feel him fuck her, to have him just shove her body hard over and over across the floor. But he held himself still above her, restrained, controlled. She gave him a look of disappointment and urged him to start moving again.  

“Your turn.” He laughingly challenged.   

“My turn? You’re the one on top!” 

“Yer the one in the panty fortress!”   

Jamie illustrated his point by rocking himself hard between her legs, feeling her underwear slide up and down his length, wetting him, too.

The head of his erection pressing her panties a little inside her before pulling taut and rebuffing him back. Claire could see how it affected him and she contemplated the possibilities.  

“So I am,” Claire agreed, smiling as he realized she wasn’t going to simply strip her underwear off.  

 “Ye play dirty, Sassenach.” He complimented and thrust again.

The momentum carried his length skipping upwards against her clit, and it felt so damn hot that he snapped his hips in rapid succession right on her swollen bud with his mouth in her ear so she could hear his heavy breaths. It was like fucking a virgin.

A wet squelch came from between their bodies and Claire moaned, needy and hot. He pressed his lower body between her legs, resting his weight on his arms and moving his hips in heavy circles. Her hands were on his ass pushing him to her. Fuck, she was such a wicked lass he couldn't get enough.  

“These are my panties now.” He groaned, “I’ll get you….a dozen….. more, but I’m no’ giving these ones back.” 

Claire spluttered, her breath short as he thrust against her again, “what...ever will you do with them?”  

Jamie shot her a look full of knowing amusement and bent his mouth to her ear again.  

“Rub them all over my cock and think about how my dirty lass rode on my face, sat on my finger with her perfect round arse and screamed wi’ out making a sound as she came.”  

Claire bit down on his shoulder and arched against his, her body shook and he realized she'd made herself come again.   

“Och, that’s no’ fair, Christ!” 

“No….just me, Claire.” She wheezed out. “Besides it was my turn.” 

His balls were drenched in her essence and it was an act of will not to flip her panties aside and bury himself deep inside her. 

As if reading his mind, Claire moved her fingers between them and he knew he should stop her, stop this, get a condom... but then she took him in hand, positioning him at her entrance and he lost his train of thought. 

She circled her hips round and round urging him forward making desperate helpless needy sounds. He pushed hard and was both relieved and disappointed to find that she hadn’t cast her panties aside. She grabbed his ass and urged him forward again and again. 

He felt like he did when he was 16 with his first girlfriend, Fiona Fitzgibbons, making out at the garage at the Motorway in the backseat of one of the safety cars. Claire excited all his senses, filling him with such need that he couldn’t stop grinding against Claire on the floor of his guest room long enough to get her into his well appointed bed. He could feel her sweat against his neck, the back of her hand knocking against the underside of his cock and he realized she was rubbing herself.  He rolled his lower body against hers once more pinning her beneath him forcing her hand to still. 

“Na-uh.” He said, and she let out a sigh of frustration. He laughed low, she felt it more than heard it. “My turn again, Sassenach, ye must follow the rules. I’ll get ye where ye need to go, but I’m picking the route.” 

As soon as he shifted his weight back off of her, Claire’s hand fisted around his cock. He hissed out a cry of surprise. 

“No...no, dinna….Christ...ye canna…” He said as she dipped the hand holding him up and inside her panties and dragged his length directly over her core, then flicked the panties back in place, thrusting him over cloth again, then back inside, keeping him on a knife’s edge. 

“But as you already “ken” I play dirty,” Claire leaned up and kissed the sensitive hollow of his throat. “And bring my own itinerary.”  She seized his ear lobe gently between her teeth, twisting his cock and bringing it back inside her panties. He mumbled incoherently. Her lips stayed against his ear.  “I haven’t been with anyone—” Jamie managed to roll his hips and rock against her at the perfect angle interrupting her for several bone melting seconds. 

Hypnotic, almost zen-like they moved out and in, in and out. Claire’s control faltered and he was accidentally notched against her opening.

Jamie was in free fall, fighting the urge to join with her. Her sharp intake of breath wasn’t a warning but a plea. He tried to shift his weight back but Claire suddenly wriggled and she was so slippery with arousal that he could feel another inch slide home. 

“No, Sassenach, my...turn….and we cannot….”

“I have an IUD. I should’ve said so earlier. Please Jamie. I want to feel it...just...a little.”

“Christ, lass yer playing with fire. I dinna have that much control.” Jamie’s said.  

 _Why did she tell him she was on birth control?_  Focusing on needing to get a condom had been the one thing holding his body in check. A white hot bolt of desire went through him. He shook with the need to anchor his hands over her head and drive deep. 

“God, what are ye …...oh, Sassenach.” Jamie's eyes fluttered closed, all his attention focused on the exquisite feel of her fingers rubbing down between them, teasing his balls, then the juncture where the head of his cock disappeared, then circling her clit and shuddering.  

“Kiss me,” she whispered to him and he didn't even open his eyes, just reached for her mouth. 

Her tongue fluttered and played and her fingers did the same. Jamie could feel the sweat on his forehead. He was trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

Now that she knew how he liked to be touched, she couldn’t stop playing with the velvet hard steel of him. It made the nerves at her core twitch in excitement. 

“Just a little more,” she begged and that wee wicked mouth of hers fastened over his and he lost himself. 

The heat of her was calling to him.

“Feels so goooood,” she told him, swinging her hips closer and then dropping her body to the floor. 

A draft blew over their skin, _no, no, no_ , it was too cold without her. Jamie chased her lips, had to feel her against him, didn’t think about it at all. He just needed to keep kissing her, rolling his tongue against hers. Praising her gorgeous body, the Gaelic words filling his head like an incantation. 

God he loved a passionate woman in bed. There was nothing like knowing someone wanted you in the same mind numbing way you felt for them. ‘Course with Claire this was no surprise, she wasn’t about to take a passive role in anything——Jamie stopped kissing her and turned his dazed eyes to watch her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and the look in her eye was… not pain, exactly but... discomfort and he suddenly realized what he hadn’t noticed when he followed her body for the kiss. 

“Oh holy Godfuck!” Jamie bit out. 

She was so unbelievably tight, squeezing down on him. Clearly she was trying to adjust to the feel of him, and he tried to pull back, to stop this, but Claire gripped tight to his hips and his breath came short as something played in his mind....just on the edge of awareness. 

“Not on your life!” She hissed and he stilled inside her, focused completely on her again. 

 _That_ need he understood having said the same thing to her not more than half an hour ago. 

“Yer no’ just a dirty lass, but a naughty one, too,” he told her.  He teased making her laugh and the tension left her body. 

It was an effort but he managed to hold himself in place, ignoring the screaming need to thrust into her.

She was begining to grow accustomed to him inside her and he thought it must have been quite a long time since she’d had sex with her husband. 

“Yer a snug fit, Sassenach.”

“Or, you’re huge.” She replied. 

“Either way, we both win.” He observed, “give me your mouth.” 

By the time he had kissed her senseless, she was moving her body firmly against him, arching upward in sure, firm strokes but still he held himself solid, unmoving until she panted out, “I’m so close…I just need--Oh!”  

Jamie broke her in one solid thrust.

“‘Twas my turn!” he said in defense and with considerable satisfaction. 

Then closed his eyes to better feel every twitch of her body. There was a look of pure astonishment on her face that made him feel like a king. 

He flicked his hips experimentally, moving harder with each successive thrust. He sat back on his knees a little and lifted each leg until it rested against his shoulders and then he slowly fucked himself into her, a steady rhythm with deep strokes.   

Her fingernails dug into his arm and he slid his hands firmly under her ass, pulling her against him as he drove into her. 

Claire’s body tightened and twisted as she arched again and made a frustrated moan. He lifted her all the way up so she was entwined around him, sitting in his lap and riding him.

Her arms snaked up and around his back, anchoring themselves on his shoulders as she bounced up and down. His mouth fastened on her nipple, using tongue and teeth he worked her slowly back up again.  

“Oh God, no...Jamie, harder...” She begged as she bucked against him. “There...oh yes!”  

 Jamie watched as a deep flush covered her chest. The smile on her face was so beautiful. Needing to be closer, he rested his cheek there just above her heart listening to the wild racing pulse beating in his ear. The second it slowed he flexed inside her, gratified at the immediate increase in tempo.  

“Jesus H Ro---wait!” Claire’s alarm was evident in her tone. To her utter shock he did exactly as she asked.  

“Did I hurt ye, Claire?” Jamie asked softly, clearly he _knew_ that wasn’t it but hadn’t wanted to speculate nor pry.

Claire shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. His hand stroked her hair unable to not be touching her while his eyes stayed on hers as she gentled for him. 

“Is it always like this?” Claire asked, looking away as if embarrassed. 

“Wouldn’t ye ken that answer better than I, Sassenach?” Jamie’s brow rose up in question. 

Claire shook her head imperceptibly and Jamie couldn’t help the smug feeling of satisfaction from rising up inside him.

He took her gift and returned it.  

“No’ for me, either, ye feel like ye were made to match me just here.” Jamie’s head cast downward and Claire felt his fingertips tracing the place they were joined. “And yer legs,” Jamie said as his palms clamped down firmly on the limbs in question, “they reach round my body perfectly. When we are joined like this, I can touch ye here, and here, and here, too.” He’d said as he trailed kisses up her torso from breast to neck to jaw to the delicate spot just behind her ear. His hand cupped her breast, “this fills my hand exactly so, aye?” He thumbed over her nipple, teasing her until she started squirming against him. He flexed his cock deep inside her.  “I dinna think I need to extoll the virtues of the close fit, but if ye need compliments then, I must tell ye, its all I can do no’ to go cross eyed and start to drool, luckily, my manly pride is still in tact, but----” Jamie shuddered feeling Claire, giggling and relaxing once more, start to flex against him, shifting with more purpose with each move of her hips. 

“But what?” Claire teased him with her siren lips curved in a seductive smile. 

“Give….” Jamie fell back against the floor and watched her through hooded eyes as she quickened her pace. “...me another few minutes and I willna ken my own na----Fuck! Sassenach whatever ye just did do it again, aye?” Claire placed her hands against his chest for leverage and experimented with speed and depth, finding a spot that made her inhale sharply.  

Jamie’s hands grabbed her hips and he took over, allowing Claire to focus intently on chasing her own pleasure. He saw her bite her bottom lip and he bucked upwards as his hands pulled her hard against him, rocking into her over and over. 

“Claire, I’m going to….” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” She urged until they both came on hoarse cries of completion. 

She fell, boneless, against his chest and let him hold her until they’d both caught their breath.  Jamie chuckled to himself as he kissed the top of her curls, simply enjoying how she felt in his arms. Claire looked up at him and he down at her.  

“Mr. Fraser,” she said popping his happy bubble. 

“Sassenach, I canna see straight at the moment, let alone think.” Jamie tilted her head up to look at her and kissed the apple of her cheek, then her lips so tenderly she blushed. “Can ye no’ hold yer tongue and bide a wee bit afore ye start _Mr. Frasering me_ again?”

“What’s wrong with my saying your name?” She asked in an incredulous tone.  

“In general, not a thing, but I’ve noticed that when ye Mister me usually whatever comes next is no’ likely to be very complementary.”  

Claire opened her mouth. Then closed it. His body, naturally, had completely relaxed — only his eyes were wary. She shook her head.

“That can’t be true,” Claire decided, “and besides, you’re wrong in any case. I was about to say I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I doubted your word.”

“Mmphm,” Jamie made a Scottish noise of indeterminate meaning. “That’s verra kind of ye to say, Sasseanch, but I’ve no notion what yer apologizing to me for.”  

“When you said _five_ , I didn’t think you meant at a time. I wish it was tomorrow already….”  

“Why?” He asked warily. 

“To see if you can do it again, of course.”  

Jamie snorted in disbelief then laughed until tears rolled down his face. _Oh Christ! What the hell was he going to do with this amazing woman aside from keep her in bed as much as he could over the next two weeks?_ When he’d got himself under control, he stood and held his hand out to her, helping her to her feet. 

“Come, Sassenach,  the floor is getting cold. If I have any chance at all to live up to my own reputation, I’ll need a nice comfortable bed.”   

“Oh, how could I have forgotten about your back?” Claire teased and let out a laughing ooph! As Jamie swept her up in his arms and carried her with absolutely no trouble at all to his bed just down the hall.


	18. Present -Eighteen

# Chapter 18  

Claire stared at the ceiling until she remembered where she was and a flush of delight spread all the way to her toes. She stretched and found herself sore in new places. The things they’d done and said floated through her mind-- and she was thrilled by her own audaciousness. Claire wondered if the smile would ever leave her face. She sighed, something woke her and she rolled over, believing she knew exactly what that something was, only to realize that Jamie was still asleep.  She took a moment to appreciate his body as the sunlight poured into the room. 

 

He not only slept in the nude, but coverless as well. She was just about to reach for him when she heard the sound again, the ringing of a phone and the beeping of an answering machine switching itself on. Next to her Jamie stirred, opened his eyes and smiled at her, scratching his chest as he reached out his hand. 

 

She heard Jamie’s ridiculous greeting, _“The number you dialed is not in service or has been disconnected ..._ ” followed by a longer beep as she slid into his arms. Then the decidedly perturbed voice of a woman on the machine. 

 

_“Honest ta God, Jamie ye havena checked in for days, I dinna ken if yer lying dead in a ditch or locked in the studio.” The voice dropped low and suggestive, “Ye ken its been far too long since wee Jamie has been over to play and I’m sure big Jamie misses it, too. Let’s set a date soon. Call me!”_

 

Jamie’s chagrined eyes met hers, a half smile on his face which fell as he noted the expression on Claire’s face. 

 

 “You named it wee Jamie?” Claire’s gaze shot pointedly to his crotch. 

 

“Of course not. My sister chose the name.” Jamie gave her a baffled look.  

 

“Your sister!” Claire felt ill. “Why would she do that?” _Oh my God had she just had the most intense physical experience of her life with some kind of pervert?_

 

“Well….” Jamie said considering, “I suppose because he’s her son and calling him wee Janet wouldna do the lad any favors on the playground.  I dinna ken for certain, but you’ll likely meet her soon enough and can ask her yerself.” The grumpy set of his mouth matched his tone. 

 

“Wee Jamie is a _child_?” Claire said relieved. 

 

“Aye, my nephew? What did ye—-“ Jamie blushed a deep crimson. “What kind of man do ye take me for?”

 

“How would I know? I found you napping in the airport, after which you transported me to a beautiful, isolated manor, took me skinny dipping and offered me a Highland booty call with a money back guarantee and the next thing I know you are doing the most unspeakable things to me with your lips.”

 

“Highland booty call?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose up in amusement, “I may just take that one from ye...for marketing material, ye ken,”  he teased. Jamie stroked her cheek thinking how good it was to laugh in bed with a woman. Especially one who was capable of fucking you brainless besides. 

 

They needed to talk, _really_ needed to talk. Her hand started stroking his chest, fingers fluttering up and over his nipple in almost the exact same way he’d done to her and all his good intentions fell by the wayside.

 

“Ye like my kisses, aye?” He reached for her, pulling her back down to where he still lay prone on the bed. 

 

“Mm-hum, among other things you do with your mouth.” Claire kissed him, letting him slide her under him.  

 

“Are ye glad of it, then?” He was looking at her with a hopeful expression, “it was so good, Claire, for me, and I hope ...for you as well?” 

 

In answer, Claire arched up into him, so aroused already that she brought him halfway in to her. They shared a moan. She winced though, as Jamie pushed forward to finish the movement and he gave her an answering grimace. 

 

“Saddle sore?” Claire laughed noticing his face. 

 

“Just because a man has a trick back….” Jamie groaned as Claire grabbed his ass and urged him to action.

 

He should have realized Claire didn’t do lazy morning sex, full speed ahead and damn the torpedos, more like. He spun them around so she was on top, thinking they may as well use her energy for a mutually agreeable purpose.  

 

“‘S’alright?” Jamie asked as she sank down on his length, shuddering in delight, any lingering pangs, forgotten. 

 

“Mm-hum, chafe or no, Mr. Fraser,” Claire said picking up steam, “if you were a horse, I’d ride you anywhere, anytime.” 

 

“A horse is it,” Jamie grinned, firmly bracing his hands on her hips, “in that case, do me a favor, Sassenach. Ride me like ye stole me, aye?”

  

By the time they had made themselves presentable it was a very late start indeed. Claire tutted and fretted once she realized half the morning was gone, wearing an adorable little frown that creased her brow and made him want to carry her back upstairs.  

 

The trip to Fort Williams was uneventful. Jamie couldn’t help but take her hand in his on the drive down, fingers twinning in hers. His gaze kept sliding left just to look at her. When she caught him out they would exchange shy grins. He had a feeling his ears were turning a nice shade of blush but the thought came to him that she was wearing a matching stain on her cheeks and a secret thrum pulsed at the base of his wrist where he could feel the heat of her skin, too. 

 

Every now and then, he would catch a whiff of the shampoo she used and feel the echo of her deep in places that he didn’t dare consciously bring to mind. Later, he promised himself, bringing her hand to his lips, intending a light kiss and sucking in her knuckle before realizing he couldn’t touch her and not want her again. 

 

He resolved to keep his eyes on the road and his hands to himself the rest of the way. They spoke of inconsequential things as Claire’s only expectation of the Fort itself was to play tourist, having heard a good deal about the place over the years. A song came on that had her feet tapping. She turned up the music and enjoyed the rest of the way in companionable silence.

 

But as they approached their exit, the thing that had been pressing on Jamie’s conscience forced its way back to the surface. He turned the music down a bit so she could hear him. Best to just get it out. He felt his heart kick up a bit as he banked the car into the steep curve of the off ramp-- but was uncertain whether this was due to his natural instincts or worry over her reaction. 

 

“Claire?” he began. 

 

“Mmm?” A low mumbling tone. 

 

“I am a driver, and a good one, of race cars mostly and I'm not saying I'm a monk; but I'm no’ an escort, either. It’s been a long time for me since...well never mind, lass. The thing is, I said it the first as a joke, but then ye took me serious. Normally, I have a lot more self control but Christ, if ye could’ve seen yerself, standing there, yer nipples hard as cherries. God, ye’d tempt the devil himself. After, I did try to tell ye and more than once; but then we’d get distracted again. I’m no’ sorry it happened, but I am sorry I didna tell ye sooner.” He took in a breath, feeling as if he’d gotten everything out in a rush.

 

Claire didn’t respond. The silence was palpable and he finally risked a peek over her way.  “Will ye no’ say something, Sassenach?” 

 

“Hum? What?” Her owlish eyes were blinking up at him, still dream clouded and fuzzy. “Are we here, already?” She wondered and grew a bit flushed when she realized she’d fallen asleep on the highway again. “Pardon my manners, Mr. Fraser, it wasn’t the company, I assure you. In my defense, I had a very rigorous morning,” Claire grinned as her phone rang, the moment vanishing the second she picked up the call. 

 

It was sunny by the time they parked the car but if Claire thought it strange that he grabbed yet another knit cap, she didn’t ask any questions.  He’d need to sit her down and do it face to face, he decided, not be cowardly about it. Make sure there were no distractions. Maybe over dinner. He tabled the issue for now and watched her barreling ahead in the distance.

 

Jamie scoured his memory banks for stories he’d been told about the garrison as a child. Claire, having just done a fair bit of research on the subject, carried most of the conversation, which suited him just fine. The place was dark and foreboding and aside from a few pockets of folks here and there, it was largely deserted this time of day. 

 

A group of Italian tourists hailed him by name but with the accent the “j” came out more like a “y” and he was thankful Claire had been scooting over one of the embankments and hadn’t really noticed.  He caught her startled glance a couple times while he’d been corralled into selfies, but didn’t ask. Instead, as they wandered back to the Rover, she asked him about Broch Mordha, the little town down the road from Lallybroch. 

 

Their next stop was the West Highlands Museum. They toured the current exhibits. Which ran the gamut from innocent and sweet -- costumes and children’s toys-- to the disturbing. Jamie couldn’t help being morbidly curious about the birching block. It was a polished hardwood table with two cutouts shoulder-width apart.  The idea was for the captive to lay face-down, threading his arms through and underneath the tabletop. The wrists were then bound by leather and the man’s legs were strapped against the table. His back was stripped and a soldier used a birch whip until the attending doctor called a halt to it in fear of killing the convict. Claire spent an equal amount of time looking over a gruesome display on primitive 18th century field surgery. 

 

While Jamie was still looking at some of the paintings in the entryway, he saw Claire chatting with the curator. She drew out a well worn copy of an old ink and quill letter and started making expressive hand gestures, the man, seventy if he was a day, started nodding in agreement and Jamie was summoned to follow the pair to the administrative side of the building. The little plaque near the door said “manuscripts room” but it was more like a storage closet. Stacks of books and boxes stored on high shelves. 

 

Claire lay the letter on the table and invited him to look at it. It was the stuff of nightmares to someone like Jamie, the script tight and uneven, splotches and blotches he couldn’t begin to decipher. Having long since mastered the art of deflection, Jamie fell back on his tried and true playbook. He yawned hugely and gave her earnest, doe eyes.

 

“How about ye tell me about it instead? I like hearing ye talk, Sassenach, yer face lights up.” He looked just like a child sitting down on the children’s rug at the school library, charming man. 

“Its part of a collection of correspondence between two brothers, both officers in the British Army.  The letters begin a few years after Culloden when John-- the younger one— was banished to a remote outpost in Scotland after some sort of a scandal. He was the governor of Ardsmuir Prison which held about a hundred Jacobite soldiers after the Rising. Hal Grey, the elder, obviously, was quite a high flyer-- either an earl or duke, he doesn’t seem able to settle on the proper form of address, though John always addressed the letters to His Grace, but I get the sense that was mostly because it vexed Hal. Both brothers had ties to Whitehall. Provocateurs, I think they called them back then. They trade endless speculation about uprisings and what the French are plotting, whether there were traitors in the army ranks and how best to expose them. Every now and then they exchanged coded messages. Lamb did a fair job of translating several of them-- the most common word in the cypher they used was “or.”

 

“Or what, Sassenach?” 

 

“Not that kind of or, _or_ as in the French word for----” 

 

“Gold.” Jamie finished.  “Aye, during the Rising Scotland was full of rumors of ships being sent from France, or Spain, or Rome. All of them loaded to the rafters to fund the Jacobite cause. But no treasure was ever found.” Jamie concluded, then gave her hand a squeeze, “no’ yet, that is.”  Claire returned the gesture.  

 

“Frank told me that it was a constant preoccupation of the monarchy, even though the clan system had been dismantled and the Clearances had greatly reduced the population of able-bodied men -- even decades later. Which I suppose was based on experience given that the Jacobites staged rebellions in ‘15 and ‘45. The prevailing theory was lack of money, not lack of sentiment, was the main obstacle standing in the way of civil war.”  

 

“Well, that and the fact that the prince had been routed from Britain and banished from France. I thought he disappeared for a time after.” Jamie reached into his school history memory banks. 

 

“I think he was doing the aristocratic equivalent of couch surfing, though his accommodations were likely far more luxurious. Did you know the prince came to London in disguise in 1750 and was part of King George’s court for a time?”

 

“Why would he have taken that kind of risk?” 

 

“No one really knows. He was back in Rome before anyone  figured it out; but Hal and John both mention it-- it was called the Thistle Affair. Some were convinced the prince infiltrated the king’s inner circle to stage an assassination. But Hal says that’s unlikely because apparently the King’s guard was very lax and he had been in close enough proximity more than once to do it if that had been his purpose. Hal thought it more in character for the prince to have come in the hope of finding out who stole his money. Quite a risk to take if there wasn’t any gold.” 

 

“Mphmm,” Jamie grunted in agreement. “And so the brothers believed the tales about the treasure?” 

 

“They did and they wanted to be the ones to find it. Lord John didn’t consider being at Ardmuir befitting someone of his rank and character. There is one letter in particular where he expresses his disappointment profane German, remind me to dig it out for you and you can read it in the original text.”

 

“Aye, I can see the benefit to him of finding a way to get in good wi’ his superiors and back to London.” 

 

“Exactly. From what I know, second sons of the peerage usually weren’t wealthy. Its a wonder he never considered keeping the treasure for himself.” Claire mused. 

 

“Well, he probably did think about it, at least for a moment or two.” Jamie tapped her playfully. “What would you do, were you to find it?” 

 

“I already told you, I’d use it to secure the fellowship at Oxford for Frank and Lamb.” 

 

Jamie just looked at her, not blinking. Claire sighed. 

 

“Oh, all alright. I admit my own bank account is sadly lacking. Still, I wouldn’t -- but I’d gladly accept the finder’s fee.” 

 

“As well ye should. Then you could buy yer own car and no’ have to rely on rabble such as myself to cart ye to and fro.” Jamie kidded. Claire gave him the evil eye. 

 

“On top of wanting to restore his good name, Lord John also had another problem. Ardsmuir is located in the far northwestern part of the Highlands. Nothing but miles of empty moors sandwiched between the mountains to the east and the sea on the coast. But about a month after he was appointed, a prisoner escaped. Lord John sent his troops out in all directions, but no one found so much as a footprint. Hal asked his name and offered to make some discreet inquiries among his Scottish informants.”

 

“He’d no’ stay hidden for long with so few men left in towns and villages after the Clearances.” Jamie observed. 

 

“Exactly. But John’s reply isn’t helpful in the least. He refers to him only as  “A MacKenzie.” I don’t know if he meant the first name began with the letter “A” or if he meant a man from the MacKenzie clan because in some of his letters he capitalizes the A and in others he doesn’t. That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to come here. The museum has old registers of inmates. The curator is searching for them now.”

 

Jamie gave her a bemused look. “A MacKenzie isna much to go on. Ye ken how many branches there are on that particular family tree?” 

 

“I do,” Claire sighed, “The MacKenzies of Leoch  for one-- they are near you, I think? During the Rising, one brother was a loyalist and the other a rebel, but in the end the Crown didn’t bother much with the distinction and confiscated all their clan lands and keep, its an old ruin but I think open to the public.” 

 

“Leoch? Oh, aye and we've no shortage of MacKenzies in these parts.” 

 

“Frank tried to narrow it down, but the only interesting find he came up with was a 1765 transcript from a military tribunal containing a pardon for an Alexander MacKenzie for services rendered to the Crown. This MacKenzie was a groom living on an English estate in the Lake District.”   

 

“So there isna even a connection. Hard to imagine a rebel would go to the trouble of escaping the English in Scotland only to end up a servant on an English estate.”

 

“Wait, I am coming to that. You wanted a story, didn’t you?” They smiled at each other and Jamie made a gesture for her to continue. “Turns out that the prisoner didn’t go far because about a week later he was back in Ardsmuir. Lord John reports that one morning he just showed up and answered the roll call as if he’d never left. The brothers go back and forth asking each other what made the man leave, what did he do during the time he was gone and most of all why he returned. Lord John eventually found something incriminating -- I have no idea what-- but he sent it to Hal for analysis. We are missing a few months of letters between them. More time passes and eventually the British close the garrison and transport the remaining Scots to the colonies-- everyone-- that is except MacKenzie. John and Hal conclude he is too valuable a captive to release. They indenture him like his cohorts but as a groom on an English estate in the Lake District.” 

 

“Mmphm.” Jamie said, contemplatively. 

 

“I can't help thinking those missing letters have something important in them. The Grey brothers were both in counterintelligence. They must have talked quite a bit more about the Prince and his gold but likely in secret code. For example, in this letter,”  Claire pointed to the bottom of the last page, though Jamie didn’t so much as follow her finger, “John writes that he hopes Hal will like the present he is sending and wonders if he thinks Master Wilton would find it passable. He says he is working on refining his technique and asks that Hal let him know when he manages an acceptable composition.” 

 

“He said it just that way, _composition_?” Jamie asked. “Mphmm. Then its something of an artistic endeavor. Most noble sons were taught music as part of their formal education. Perhaps he wrote a song.” Jamie thought a moment, “aye, I could see that sheet music would be an excellent way to code a secret message.” Jamie speculated. 

 

“Maybe. I also wondered if it was a portrait of himself or a family member and maybe he left a trace of something at Ardsmuir that we may be able to find in the records. He could have hidden letters or coordinates in the pictures, but I’m not sure. Drawing seems like a particularly female sort of activity. In all the old gothic novels, its only the young ladies who complain about nasty governesses and the impossibility of mastering watercolors.” 

 

“What’s wrong wi’ boys painting? Are ye no’ being a wee bit sexist?” Jamie said a bit sharply.  

 

“Am I? I didn’t mean to be.” Claire replied mildly, not entirely sure whether he was upset or just teasing. 

 

Jamie pushed back from the table and started pacing around the room, snaking his way around the bookshelves. When he didn’t return, she went looking for him. He was poking halfheartedly in boxes but wouldn’t look her way.    

 

“Jamie?” She said as she touched his arm, hoping they had enough between them for her to be direct.“What’s this about?” 

 

Jamie sighed and looked at her. “I was never what ye might call academically inclined. My family put a lot of stock in report cards, class rank and such.” He said quietly. “They used to joke I was a changeling dropped into the cradle by the fairies.” Claire saw right through the pain he tried to hide under a grin. “Felt a bit out of place in my own house at times,” he had a faraway look in his eye, “except when I was in my mam’s studio. She was a wonderful artist. My happiest memories are of being in that room wi’ her. Its the one thing I was good at and my brother and I could always go there and do something together, even if it was just a wee bit of drawing for fun. But my brother was teased fierce when the lads at school saw him doing it, so he kept it secret, like. He was a good student, graduated top of his class. He could ha’ gone to any uni he wanted. But only wanted to paint. Willie is much better at it than me, of course. He’s in New York now, left to follow his bliss when I was still a lad.” Jamie mused. 

 

“Willie?” Claire said, the pin dropping suddenly. “Oh My God! Liam Fraser! Your brother is Liam Fraser, isn’t he?” 

 

“Aye,” Jamie answered cautiously. It had been a time since he’d had to explain the family connection and he was out of practice. But he seized the opportunity it presented and sat her back down at the table, taking her hand in his. “Claire, I must tell ye something.” 

 

“Oh!” Claire exclaimed, “the landscape above the bed, its his isn’t it?” She said referring to a beautiful oil that occupied most of the back wall in his bedroom. Jamie smiled at her.  She was a quick one. “Are there more on the walls back--” her eyes narrowed, “that’s it. It’s his house, isn’t it?” 

 

“What?” Jamie asked, startled. 

 

“Lallybroch, you said the owner wouldn’t be back until June. Obviously a ... fledgling startup takes time to get off the ground and if the rates I pay are any indication, you won’t be affording a house like that on your earnings any time soon. Its really lovely that he lets you be his caretaker.” She beamed. Jamie made a choking sound. “You did ask him if I could stay there, didn’t you? Are you sure its ok? Imagine, Liam Fraser. God, he’s world famous!” She blurted like an idiot. 

 

“I ken who and what he is, Sassenach.” Jamie was used to interacting with all kinds of starry-eyed fans, but he’d never had a woman he was with drool all over his brother. Not that Willie didn’t deserve to be admired—he earned every accolade thrown his way. It was just that usually folk were equally impressed by the brothers Fraser. Everyone, it seemed, but his Sassenach who sat there gushing over Willie, thinking Jamie was some kind of freeloader. 

 

“Mr. Fraser, I have to ask,” Claire said giving him a look of speculation. “Have you ever reconsidered how you make a living?” 

 

“What’s wrong wi’ how I make a living?” Jamie said hotly. 

 

“Well its just when someone asks what you do and you have to say you’re an...an…” Claire’s face went red. “Escort, doesn’t that feel rather...awkward?”

 

“No. What’s awkward about making people happy?” He blustered. 

 

Claire sighed. She should have known he’d be defensive and stubborn about this but now that she understood the situation a bit better, she couldn’t help trying to show him that he could carve any number of futures out for himself. 

 

“You are clearly very intelligent and physically sound, your family all seems rather accomplished and they obviously care for you. I imagine that if you wanted to try going in a new direction, they would help you.” 

 

“Mmphm,” Jamie responded, “Maybe so and maybe no. Did ye ever stop to consider my family is part of why I’m at this crossroads in the first place?”

 

“Your family?” She asked in disbelief, “the sister who calls you up and invites you to play dates with your nephew and the brother who let’s you live in his house?” 

 

“Not them.” Jamie said now irritated, “the ones who suspended me, are withholding my paycheck and threatening to blackball me permanently.” Jamie could see Claire about to jump in with questions, not this time. “ _Iffrin,”_ he muttered, taking her hand, “this is where I speak and ye listen. I have been trying to tell ye this since yesterday and ye will no’ let me get a word in edgewise. I’m a profes----” 

 

“Ms. Beauchamp!” the curator came booming through the door, holding a heavy wooden box. 

 

Jamie rolled his eyes and slumped back into his chair. Would he never be able to come clean? Christ, at this rate she’d uncover his unintentional secret in the worst possible way and Dougal would be having his balls for breakfast. The longer this went on, the heavier the weight of it. He thought about just shouting the man down and having done with it, but Claire’s attention was riveted on the box the man was holding.  

 

“You will never believe what I uncovered! It’s a bit of a jumble but when the Ardsmuir garrison was abandoned in 1825, everything was packed away and transferred to the West Highlands Records Bureau. When they flooded everything that was salvaged went to the Military Ordnance Hall and they sent half a truck load of old boxes and bins to us to catalogue. Its a very slow process, I’m afraid. But when I opened this one-- look! Ledgers from Ardsmuir. Each prisoner, day of entry, regiment, full name, their ...ah disposition, all of it!” The man paused for dramatic effect and brandished the lid revealing a mishmash of books and papers were strewn haphazardly inside. “Viola!” 

 

Claire jumped up, glanced inside, then kissed him on the cheek. 

“Oh Geordie, thank you! I am sure this will have what we need.”  

 

Her excited eyes met his and he remembered the pleading look she’d given him the other night. _Can you please just pretend it will be successful? I could use a friend._

 

He sighed, she needed him to focus on doing as he promised-- helping her. This was her first big lead and damned if he was going to derail her just when she’d been given a little wind in her sails. He gave her arm a brief pat and nodded his head, knowing what she was asking. They’d get to his news when they had time; for now, this was more important. 

 

“There is just one catch, however,” Geordie said frowning at his watch. “We close in 30 minutes and nothing in there has been digitized.” 

 

“We’ll work fast!” Claire promised, pulling out the books and making two piles.  

 

It wasn’t easy, but they’d managed to review almost everything in the box. There were, in fact, several interesting finds, including the entire roster of transported prisoners, a half dozen musical scores, a bawdy set of drawings with incredibly profane poems in a two volume set, and a portfolio, faded and smelling like mildew,  of vaguely familiar architectural renderings. Some of the material was clearly from Ardsmuir, some could have come from anywhere. 

 

Jamie took Geordie aside for a private word and, upon receipt of a hundred pound tip, the man suddenly remembered a pressing  need to restock the gift shop shelves, offering them the use of the two copiers in the front office, for a “wee” administrative fee (of an additional hundred pounds).  Working like fiends, he and Claire managed to get everything done in relatively short order. They put everything into a tote bag, which Jamie though at bargain at a mere ten pounds, to look over later. 

 

God, he needed a nap, Jamie thought as they drove home. He really hoped today wasn’t typical of her normal routine. But, remembering how she’d set the pace this morning, he revised his thinking a bit. The setting sun was well on the way to slipping over the horizon as they passed a strip mall just outside of Lochaber.  Claire cried out suddenly for him to stop and pull in. 

 

“Here?” Jamie asked in surprise, looking at the run of the mill collection of fry ups and chain stores, none of them anything to write home about. 

 

“Just over there,” Claire pointed while Jamie dutifully pulled in front of a nondescript silver and blue building. “I need to grab a few things I forgot to pack. It won’t take more than half an hour or so.” Claire wasn't sure exactly what the protocol was in this kind of situation, shopping seemed an oddly intimate thing and most men she knew disliked it in any event. “Do you-- er want to come with me or just maybe stretch your legs and I'll meet you back here?”

 

Jamie hadn’t grown up with Janet Fraser Murray without learning a thing or two about women and shopping. He told her to proceed without him, he’d entertain himself. Once her brusk stride faded across the parking lot, he reclined his seat, sighed in relief and was asleep in seconds.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and we're back, sorry for the hiatus....thanks


	19. Present- Nineteen

 

“Ouch!” Claire said, “it’s in Inverness, do you know it?” She asked, trying to look _oh so innocent_ as she changed the radio station after waking him from his nap, loaded with bags and packages, now heaped in the backseat.

 

The girl at the shop had been very helpful after Claire openly admired her tongue piercing and clearly she was a woman on a mission. 

 

The sooner Claire changed her outward appearance, the sooner Jack Randall would back down, she knew it. Having just parted with a considerable amount of the limited funds she’d set aside for this purpose, she was determined to see it through to the end. Maybe she should have shaved one side of her head this morning, but before she went too far down Castigation Road she remembered that she’d spent the morning enjoying a far more pleasurable pastime. 

 

Still, Claire wished she’d updated her wardrobe before starting to make inroads among local historians and curators. Knowing Jack, she was certain he had eyes and ears all over the place. One of his contacts was sure make a report to him regarding her progress soon and when they did, she wanted to be sure they found her appearance notable. 

 

Then again, she thought looking over at her driver, what accessory could possibly draw the eye better than Jamie Fraser? She could be covered head to toe in camouflage and still gain notice as long as he was next to her. However, if Jack were the jealous type, then having Jamie along might be a huge mistake. She relaxed a bit realizing that she was safe. Even if someone mentioned her in company with Jamie Fraser, Jack would never in a million years imagine they were doing anything. Well, that was fine, she had trouble believing it, too.

 

Once Jack understood she wasn’t at all suited to his purposes, he’d cast about for a new bride. Making him think it was his all idea to stop pursuing her was critical to her success. If she was too obvious, he'd retaliate by withholding the endowment. That was why the nose piercing was critical to her plan. An updated wardrobe and a different hairstyle might not be enough to convince him but a dramatic change that was permanent would help Jack come to the inevitable conclusion that she wasn’t his type after all. 

 

Nothing was stopping her plan from its successful implementation.  Except the stubborn, uncooperative, red headed speed bump sitting next to her.

 

“I have heard of it, but that's because it was on the news for health code violations.” He fudged. “Ye canna go there.” 

 

“I’m not asking your permission, Dad.” Claire said with a sigh. “You are very judgmental about body modification.  I don't want to spend the next two weeks fighting with you over it.” She told him, ignoring the mullish expression on his face. “I’ll just give Geillie a call and find another driver.” 

 

“No, no, no-- Sassenach, dinna do that!” Jamie sounded alarmed. “Why would ye need to call her?” 

 

“I don’t _need_ to but she is my friend and she's probably wondering how things are going.” Claire said.

 

“Well, and they are going great!” Jamie responded with a weird grin. Claire gaped at him.

 

“You mean aside from the fact that my driver refuses to drive me?”

 

“Och, that’s no’ the case!” Jamie assured her. “But ye canna just go anywhere.”

 

“Which describes my problem in a nutshell, and you’re the head squirrel.” Claire said, “I’ll just tell Geillie we have a personality conflict. She'll understand.”  

 

“There’s no conflict, no’ at all. I’m working on finding the best place where they have new equipment and clean needles.” 

 

“Clean needles?” Claire repeated. She generally had no problem giving shots, but being on the receiving end of them was another story. 

 

“Aye, ye ken it’s done with sharp wee stabbers? Sometimes larger-- more like an ice pick or a gun, instead. Too much force, an unsteady hand, ye end up wi’ the nerve damage. No’ to mention terrible skin infections from dirty tools. And we’re talking of yer face, Sassenach. How would ye feel looking in the mirror and seeing open sores or scars every day?”  Jamie threw out. 

 

“Oh,” Claire replied faintly, having not thought of it quite in that way before. 

 

“Ye ken it hurts and ye bleed like a pig, too. Yer gung ho to do it and no’ considering the big picture so pardon me if I feel like someone needs to be watching out for you. Geillie would never forgive me if anything happened to ye.” Geillie, not being sentimental in the least, would likely not give it more than a momentary thought. Jamie knew he’d laid that on a little too thick when he saw her eyebrows shoot up. 

 

“What does Geillie have on you?” 

 

“Nothing. We're great pals.” Jamie assured her.  “It's the bull-heided despot she's dating that’s the trouble,” he muttered under his breath. 

 

“As we are all among friends, it shouldn’t be an issue. Goodness, it can’t be that big a deal to find me a new driver.” Claire reached into her bag. 

 

Jamie made an urgent sound and his hand shot out. “I tell ye what, Sassenach, if ye dinna call Geillis, I’ll give you ...say fifty pounds a day to stay on as yer driver.” 

 

Jamie had clearly misunderstood her. She wasn’t talking about replacing him, only getting someone else to take her to Ouch! and back. 

 

“I’m not sure, Jamie.” She told him, thinking fast, “I mean, you pay me fifty pounds each morning, and, let’s be honest, I’d only end up just giving it back to you every night. How does that resolve anything?”

 

“One hundred pounds a day, Sassenach. Plus room and board and complimentary HBC services for your entire stay!” Jamie had sweetened the pot considerably, then added, “Come on, Claire, ye ken I can give ye what ye need.” Jamie said giving her his very best highland booty eyes.

 

“What I _need_ is my nose pierced!” Claire said tartly, pretending not to notice.  

 

“And I’ll find ye a place before the end of the day tomorrow.” Jamie promised. “In exchange ye leave off dragging Geillis into this. It’s a good deal for ye, no?” 

 

o0o

 

Jamie wondered what was taking so long. They’d decided on a late dinner after giving her some time to do a quick review of their findings at the museum.

 

“Chinese?” she sounded a little surprised when he told her about it.  

 

“Aye, ye havena been to the highlands wi’out eating at Yi Tien’s Chow. It’s a local institution.”  

 

Claire had gone straight to into her room when they arrived back home and he hadn’t seen her in a couple hours. Having spent the day in such close proximity, his desire for her hadn’t had any time to wane. Quite the opposite. He resisted the urge to moon outside her door and paced yet another lap around the kitchen, pretending he wasn’t waiting like an eager puppy for her to reappear and give his ears a wee scratch. 

 

Claire dressed with care, hoping she remembered enough from the quick tutorial at the cosmetics counter to replicate the smokey smudge around her eyes.  Not half bad, she thought and slicked down her hair. Despite the chilly breeze against the small strip of belly peeking from the crop top, Claire resisted the urge to grab a shawl. As she made her way down the stairs she grabbed the bannister, though. It had been a couple years since she’d worn heels at all, let alone ones this high.  

 

He was just coming in from the back garden when he caught a glint of silver. She was wearing long dangling earrings. He gave her a double take. 

 

“Claire!” She was gratified to see the stunned look in his eye but her happy bubble popped when he added, “where are yer clothes?”  

 

“What do you mean? I’m wearing them.”

 

“Those arena clothes, lass, they’re a red flag waving at any man within 50 yards of ye. And what happened to yer face?” 

 

Claire’s stomach fell, knowing full well what he meant. She’d left the room full of confidence and feeling rather sexy in her leather mini skirt rocking the first pair of booted heels she’d ever owned.  

 

“And yer hair! I’ve never seen it so…” Jamie’s brow furrowed unable to find the word.  He was shaking his head. Where had his Sassenach gone? She had been wholesome, beautiful and unadorned. He wanted her messy haired, glass-faced and in sensible shoes. This gorgeous creature, with her sleek, elegant sophistication was a stranger. She cocked her head quizzically, the silver catching the light once more. His mouth went dry. She was the most alluring, enticing, provoking being he’d ever seen. 

 

She reminded him far too much of the WAGs that hung with the racers on the circuit. They all had a certain look- cool, reserved, effortlessly oozing sexual attraction and drawing every male eye in the crowd.  To him, Claire had done all that without looking the part. 

 

He liked seeing her so buttoned up on the outside, knowing the uninhibited lass that lay hidden under all those layers waiting for him to come unwrap her. Not that he was anything special, any man who gave the widow Beauchamp a second glance would’ve seen what he had. But no one had. Now, having been released from her own self imposed exile, she was unfurling before his eyes. He couldn’t stop his feet as they moved toward her, nor still his hand as he caressed her hip to bring her closer. 

 

Over his shoulder, he caught their reflection in the foyer mirror. She had the kind of dark beauty that instantly elevated any man in her orbit and together they looked ... brighter than the sun. His hand tucked a curl that had broken free from its mooring back behind her ear. 

 

 _His Claire_ hadn’t any idea of how sexy she was, or she’d have carried herself exactly like _this Claire_. This one with her eyes aflame and chin jutting out, daring him to criticize. He laughed seeing her defiance and he turned her so she could see the picture they made, too. He gave her a sweeping, long, meaningful blink. An amused expression curling his lips. 

 

Claire was silent a moment but she couldn’t see what he had found so objectionable. Maybe her midriff was a little too daring, she thought as she touched her exposed skin, but her abs were toned and flat. She felt attractive and wondered if she shouldn’t rethink the nose ring and consider a belly button ornament. The crop style definitely complimented her breasts and in the boots her posture was perfect. Her makeup wasn’t. Mascara application was a skill she hadn’t acquired, but the rest of the look she’d nailed, and her new earrings made her neck look graceful. 

 

In the heels, she came up to his chin. She forgot all about herself for a second. Jamie was the manquivilent of catnip. He rolled out of bed looking delectably rumpled and only improved as the day wore on. Why was she even trying? He would always be ten times prettier than her and she knew for a fact how little effort he put in to it. 

 

“You don’t like my makeover?” Cool, flat tone, deciding that if she couldn’t defend the look with him, she wouldn’t stand a chance against Black Jack Randall. That caught him short and he had the grace to flush a bit. 

 

“Ye looking fucking amazing and well ye ken it.” Jamie said to her surprise.

 

He was still hot and bothered by the vision in front of him but the look of appreciation she was giving him made his belly clench. He leaned in and whispered,  “and if my lips take ye up on that offer, Sassenach you'll surely starve.” He said, gesturing her toward the door, then his hand gripped her arm, pulling her behind him. “Let me walk ahead, aye? I’m sure to hurt myself walking into a ditch as I’ll be too busy staring at yer arse in those heels otherwise.”

 

o0o

 

After they ordered, Jamie told her he’d found her a place for the piercing and the artist had an opening that night.

 

“Won’t that be rather late?” She asked.

 

“Those guys work all kinds of strange hours,” Jamie said shrugging, “Besides, I am a man of my word, Sassenach. I said I would find ye a place and I trust him. He said for me, he’d fit ye in.” Jamie told her. 

 

“Really, Mr. Fraser, you have the oddest assortment of connections.” She said. 

 

“I do, drink up, Sassenach ye’ll want to be a bit anesthetized.” 

 

Claire needed both hands to lift the scorpion bowl. “Thanks for reminding me,” she told him. The drink was very strong but delicious. 

 

She waited until their appetizers had been served, a mouth-watering assortment on a lazy Susan they spun between themselves. 

 

“Earlier today, what was that all about?”

 

Jamie gave her an assessing look. 

 

“You can tell me or I can call Geillis and ask.” 

 

“Blackmail and threats is it? And after I shared my drink wi’ ye!” He blustered. 

 

“Thank you, much appreciated, now spill.” Claire took another swallow and grinned. _Well Beauchamp, you lightweight,_ Claire thought feeling the effects of the alcohol already. _Needles_ , she also thought and took another fortifying sip. 

 

As succinctly as possible, he told her about himself and his present situation. She said nothing for a long minute as their starters were cleared and a new drink appeared as if by magic. She worked her bottom lip, frowning at him. 

 

“You’re a Formula One race car driver?” She repeated. “Not a tour guide?” Jamie nodded. “And in the hunt for world champion?” Jamie nodded again. “And Dougal is your boss. He’s suspended you for a laundry list of infractions.” 

 

“Aye,” Jamie said, his head was hurting from the nods. Claire had stopped trying to bring the heavy concoction to her lips, leaning in and reaching for the straw instead. Her head rose up and she looked at him, awareness flooded her face. 

 

“Lallybroch is yours, isn’t it?” She accused, then gasped. “There is no Highland Booty Call! You lied about everything!”

 

“I havena! Everything pulling us together from the start, that connection, all truth. You’d gotten tied up in knots and wanted help to get free of them and it was going to happen - one way or the other, Sassenach. The thing about being an escort…’twas just the pretext ye needed. At most, I’m only guilty of using a wee bit of foreploy.” 

 

“You think a sex pun will get you out of this?” Claire said, hiding the grin threatening to ruin her peeve behind her fiercest scowl. 

 

“I’m sorry! I wasna expecting you,” he said distracted by her biting her lower lip. 

 

“I wasn’t expecting you either, but at least I was honest.” Claire squelched the little twist in her gut realizing even as she said it how hypocritical she was being. 

 

“Stop doing that, aye?” He said in a low tone.

 

“Doing what?” Claire asked.

 

“With yer lip, and teeth, and, can ye no’ keep yer wee tongue in yer mouth?” He rasped. Claire looked at him, so astonished she dropped the skewer she had been enjoying. He took a deep breath, “Christ, I sound like an idiot. Ye ken I canna think when ye do that and tonight ye look especially….” Jamie broke off as the server swept by and replenished their drinks, using his arm in a gesture encompassing her body from boot to root. “How could I look at ye and no’ want ye, Sassenach? I thought what difference does it make whether I’m a tour guide or a racer? I come with the same equipment, either way. But its no’ been sitting right since. It wasna well done of me and I canna stop worrying for how you would feel once I told ye I was a driver, but no’ the kind ye thought.” He looked completely uncomfortable and she took pity on him. 

 

“Be at ease, soldier.” She said with a grandiose wave of her off-kilter hand, “I knew that, and a little bit more besides. Honestly, Jamie, have you any idea how famous you are?” Claire missed the expression of outrage that crossed his face and gave him a muzily smile.

 

“Ye what? Have ye any notion of what ye put me through? Feeling like ye’d think the worst of me, that I was the type who would play ye false for sport. Why did ye no’ say something earlier?” He was huffing and puffing like the mighty dragon he was. 

 

“Why didn’t you?” Claire shot back, just because she didn’t call him on his deception didn’t mean she was the one at fault. 

 

“I tried,” Jamie defended, “a couple times, but ye kept distracting me..och! Ye did it on purpose didn't ye? Letting me play the numpty, aye? All yon rubbish about my brother and my being a mooch at Lallybroch! Did Dougal put ye up to it then?” Jamie didn't like where these dark thoughts were going as that path only led him back into all the unknowns surrounding his racing future. He couldn’t pick a fight with Dougal at the moment and was still vaguely ashamed and pissed at himself for the things he’d done to get himself here. Naturally, being a man, he promptly focused his ire on irrelevant irritations that were completely beside the point but which were more satisfying to get upset about.  

 

“What has Dougal to do with any of this? I've never even spoken to the man. And if you feel a fool that's your own damn fault. HBC was all _your_ idea and, not that I am trying to excuse what happened, because I am not the problem here, but I didn’t figure it out until _after_ the pool. Just before dinner, I saw a picture tucked away in the study -- you are standing in the winner’s circle, celebrating with champagne poured by nearly naked women. Then I remembered what Geillis had said about Dougal being in a pissy mood because of a fight he was having with one of the racers. I didn’t even have to fill in your full name before Google handed me your life story.” 

 

“As I said, ye knew before we were together and still didna say a word about it. ” He _mmphmed_ and crossed his arms. 

 

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? I didn’t know until _after_. You, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met! Don’t you dare try turning this around on me. I am the innocent one here!” She said exasperated. 

 

Having no other play, Jamie doubled down on pretending to be the injured party, managing to screw his face into a sneer to accompany his judgmental tone.

 

“Innocent? Ha! Ye kent ye had it in mind to have a fling, so dinna be acting the outraged virgin, aye? Ye hired a man to have sex wi’ you after knowing him five minutes.” 

 

“You’re welcome!” She retorted. 

 

Jamie’s lip twitched trying to contain it, but he couldn’t and  laughter exploded from him, shaking shoulders and hunching him over. Claire started laughing too, coming to lay helpless hands on his as they tried to get themselves under control. They ended up with heads bent together and hands held tightly between them. 

 

“Tell me what is really going on, Jamie. Why are you and your uncle in a spat and what does Geillis have to do with it?” She looked so adorable sucking on the straw, peeking over the rim of the massive drink, as their table was being cleared. 

 

Jamie filled her in as best he could, telling her that while he was paid a base salary per year, the real money he earned came from  bonuses for placing in the standings and any endorsement deals he could land on the side. 

 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, you’re gorgeous, smart, funny, kind,” Claire said, “and filthy rich, besides?”   

 

“Claire, I’m no’ rich,” Jamie told her shaking his head, “At least no’ like other drivers wi’ my record of wins. The big money is in interviews and commercials. Ye may have noticed that I ken folk, from all over, and get recognized especially here in Scotland. But its different in Asia and America. I dinna have a single international sponsor-- let alone the dozen most drivers usually have.” 

 

Claire looked him up and down, “Why not? I’d think they’d be lining up at your door, I mean...look at you. You’re so dazzling you practically ooze glitter and you’re exciting as hell,” she complimented, a bit loudly, making him blush.

 

Jamie very carefully looked over one shoulder, then the other way and leaned into her so he could whisper.  

 

“I canna read.” He mumbled.

 

His over-the-top delivery was so theatrical that Claire thought he must be kidding and gently chided him, “everyone knows that, tell me the _real_ reason.” 

 

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, he’d never told anyone his big secret and, despite her obvious intoxication, didn’t much appreciate her attitude. “Everyone? Would that be the same everyone who kens how to drive?” 

 

That snapped her sober in a heartbeat. “Oh, Jesus, I’m such an ass sometimes. This is why I shouldn’t go on dates. Forgive me?” She asked. Jamie didn’t meet her eye but nodded slightly. She touched his arm. “Do you mean you don’t like to do it or you are unable?” His eyes shifted back to her. 

 

“I ...canna make the letters stay in order. They jump around the page and go backwards, switch places and such.” 

 

Claire said nothing for a moment. “I have no idea how hard that must be for you, but I want to.” He was quite the complicated man, her Mr. Faser. 

 

“You’ll maybe no’ appreciate what it is to spend hours memorizing yer lines for a 30 second spot, over and over until ye had them down perfect, only to be told the big wigs decided on new copy. But let me tell ye, the experience leaves a lasting impression. I was stuck standing on a soundstage trying to film that commercial -- it was for vodka from Finland-- for hours. Knowing every minute under the hot lights were costing them thousands. Everyone staring at me wondering why I was joking about needing to get glasses or having short term memory loss and all they wanted was for me to stop yammering and just read the fucking cue card so they could get on wi’ it and go home.” Jamie told her, face flushed. “I tried, truly I did. Next day, the story started making the rounds, that I fucked up the shoot. By the time the other drivers had heard it, they were primed-- they already thought I was a bit of a numpty but now they are really gunning for me. Telling me the only thing dumber than a dumb blonde was a strawberry ginger one. I thought my heart was going to stop. I started racing young, mostly because school was...torture most days.  Over the years, I’ve gotten good at hiding my shame and I was making a name for myself. The lads and lasses I raced with were sort of like ...well, no’ a family, but, maybe, more like a clan. Together, we ken what it is to be F-1, no one else can truly understand the thrill of it and the terror. But then everyone is pointing at me and laughing, and me standing out there in the open, more exposed than were I naked and wi’ nothing to use for cover. There is no place for someone like me, Sassenach, I dinna belong anywhere.” 

 

Jamie moved his hands out of hers and rested them on the table. Claire debated for a moment wondering if he couldn’t stand to be connected to anyone just then or if he thought she’d reject him once he told her his story. _Fuck it_ , she thought, pulling his hands back to hers and not letting go. Jamie took a deep breath and kept his eyes on their joined hands. 

 

“Then Christie says-- he’s won the championship last two years running-- well liked and respected-- anyway, he starts in on me, cracking jokes about Highlanders and gingers and such, ribbing me for being an airhead -- but no one has actually said it about no’ being able to read and I brace myself for it, start thinking about emptying out my locker and then he says-- loud enough to be heard over the laughter-- that he understands it was my first time. Says he’s sorry for no’ telling the virgin that when a company asks for an endorsement, they werena expecting me to product test on the job. Someone else says the vodka they sent was meant for props, no’ as my paycheck. Christie pats me on the back and then thanked me for picking an alcohol product my first time out instead of one for a fiber cereal. It should have been humiliating but ye know what I felt?”  Claire shook her head. “Relief, Sassenach! I was thrilled they thought me a drunk rather than too stupid to read. I’ll never do anything like it again. Verra few companies are on the look out to pay an athlete who will only agree to print ads and canna do any Twitter or Facebook Q and As. So its down to my base pay and bonuses for wins. I’m no’ saying I don’t earn a good living, I do but no’ the millions and millions everyone would expect.”

 

“And when Dougal suspended you, he cut your income because you can’t get any bonuses, but why not just drive for someone else?” 

 

“I have a three year contract with Mack-F1 and they are within their rights to bench me, paying my base salary for the rest of the contract time. But it isna the money, or not only that. If a driver has a lot of sponsors, then even if he is hurt and has to take time off to heal, the driver is still well known in the eyes of the public and even if his team drops him, he’ll be vera likely to land a spot on a new team-- ye ken there are only twenty spots each year? The sport moves quick, I havena won a championship yet and without sponsors and three years out of the game, I will be history, completely forgotten. Dougal has the power to keep me on the sidelines which will end my career and still stay within the contract terms.”

 

“That’s not fair!” Claire said. “He hasn’t even told you how you can lift the suspension.”

 

“I ken that. That’s why when Geillis asked me to help ye out, I jumped at the chance. Dougal’s fair taken wi’ the lass and she holds sway wi’ him.” Jamie nodded.  “And I need her to get him off my back before Monaco. I need to be on the line for that race, and well he kens it.” Jamie held her hand and told her about his father and his dream.  Not knowing what to say or how to ease his pain, she patted his hand, looking away. Then changed the subject to try and find another way to occupy his time.  

 

“I know this won’t help you for this year, or with getting to drive  in Fraser Colors, but couldn’t you just tell sponsors about your difficulties with reading? They may be willing to work around the problem and may even use it to help others like you. You could land some big deals. Then when you are released from the Mack-F1 deal you can find another team.” She suggested. Jamie snorted. 

 

“I’d be roasted, lass,” Jamie held up his hands to forestall her protests. “I learned long ago in situations like this folk will think as they like, print what they want and it does no good to try and explain or justify. Someone always uses what ye tell them against you. Its how the sport works. So maybe I could make a little quick money were I willing to tell the whole world I’m a numpty. But if that gets me sponsors then that means I’m endorsing a company willing to exploit a learning disability to sell more shoes, or enhanced water.” 

 

“Not your style.” Claire acknowledged. 

 

“I’d rather go on a wilderness picnic wi’ the Donner Party.” He agreed. “And in the end, the truth is, the F-1 world is vera cut throat, folk play hard and dirty and get in the muck. It would bring a lot of attention -- much of it negative-- to the struggles of others. I’d get sympathy maybe for a bit but then, in the end, team owners would focus on that instead of me, my driving, how hard I work...Racing is dangerous, takes a lot of concentration, I dinna want to be a sideshow. I am a racer, Claire, I’m good at it and  it’s the only thing I ken how to do and earn a living. I need to get Dougal off my back and my arse back on the circuit. I have two weeks, then my shot at the championship and my livelihood is over. Time is ticking and I can feel it passing.” He said grimly. He paused a bit then added, “speaking of which, we need to get going for yer appointment, Sassenach.” It was clear Jamie wanted to change the subject, so she nodded at him, squeezing his hand and doing as he wished.  

 

Claire made her way, weaving and bobbing, outside, convinced the cool air would sober her a bit. But things were spinning.  

 

“Aim for the one in the middle, lass.” Jamie told her, which was excellent advice, as there were precisely three of him in her line of vision. 

 

“I don’t think I am going to mind the needle.” She told him. 

 

“I reckon ye got that right. _Je suis pre_ t?” He asked. 

 

“Oh, I like that, yes indeed ready as I’ll ever be.”  

 

o0o

 

She woke with her head on fire feeling like she’d been run over by a mack truck. She screwed one eye open to find Jamie standing next to the bed, relaxed and grinning down at her with a smug look on his face. 

 

“Don’t tell me I missed an encore of last night’s record?” She asked. “Thank goodness we renegotiated the HBC fee.” 

 

“Och, lass, after last night, I’ve decided to double what I’m paying you!” Jamie wriggled his eyebrows and blinked. 

 

“Nothing happened.” She decided. 

 

“What makes ye so sure?” 

 

“You’re still standing.” Claire’s head was pounding but his low-pitched laugh sent shivers down her spine. 

 

“Rise and shine, Sassenach, ye could use a toothbrush ...and a shower.” He said bluntly. He waited almost a minute then chuckled as he heard her scream. 

 

The unexpected sound of thudding feet came up from the hall. 

 

“Jamie, what they hell is going on?” A small dark haired figure burst through the bedroom door just as Claire shrieked again. 

 

“Did ye try and kill this one?” His sister asked.

 

Claire flew out the bathroom with a towel carelessly clutched to  her chest.

 

“What did you do to me?” She wailed, then stopped in her tracks when she noticed Jenny.  

 

“Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie turned and inclined his head, “I’d like ye to meet Jenny, my sister, the one who doesna remember how to knock.” 

 

“I’m yer only sister, and why should I knock when ye never bother to lock yer doors? Ye ken I drop in often enough, I live straight down the road.” Jenny flicked her gaze back to Claire. “Well now, compliments on the nipple piercing. Though I think ye should put some ointment on yer nose, that must hurt.”

 

Claire hastily secured the towel into position, wincing as the cotton came into contact with her sensitive skin. “Jamie, how did this happen?” 

 

“Sassenach, ye ken how ye are when yer mind’s made up. Ye were verra insistent.” 

 

“I was _vera_ drunk!” She told him. 

 

“Tell me about it,” he laughed, then winced. “My back may never be the same,” he stretched and groaned in exaggerated relief, “had to carry ye from the car into the house last night.” Jamie turned to Jenny, “how’s my favorite nephew?” 

 

“He’s yer only nephew and he’s missing his uncle. Started wearing those boxers ye gave him and strutting around like a wee mannie. Tis the cutest thing, ye must come compliment him.” 

 

“Oh I will, soon. Promise.” Jamie grinned. 

 

“I only had two drinks!” Claire exclaimed. 

 

“Aye, who knew ye were such a lightweight?” Jamie nodded. 

 

“At Yi Tien’s Chow? Those scorpion bowls and legendary. Ye ken that yerself Jamie,” Jenny sniggered, “Remember that summer when you and Ian lifted the cows out of Old MacVeigh’s pasture and I found the twa of ye in the pond, high as midnight and proud as peacocks that ye’d taught the coos to swim?” Jenny and Jamie started laughing hysterically. 

 

“Even so, I wanted a nose ring. One cute, sweet, tiny piercing,” Claire told them.

 

“Aye, but when ye got there ye insisted on that one. Kept saying ye wanted something everyone would notice.” 

 

“Oh, well done, in that case. No one could miss it!” Jenny congratulated her. 

 

“Its the outline of Scotland. In tartan.”  Claire said flatly.

 

“Aye, a little touristy, but points for picking the Fraser colors,” Jenny approved. 

 

“Och, no, twas my doing, Jen. She’d was leaning toward the MacKenzie and I couldna spend the next two weeks staring at that.” 

 

“No, of course ye canna, well done.” Jenny nodded.  

 

“And the nipple piercing...why...when ...how?” Claire was flummoxed. 

 

“No’ without a great deal of screeching.” Jamie laughed. “Christ, I had to hold ye steady.” He held his two hands up, fingers splayed suggestively and his lewd grin left no doubt about the location of his grip. “Ye said the nose didna hurt a bit. Then ye said some  verra bawdy things about how ye didna realize how much ye liked having yer nipp-- _-mphmm_.” Jamie turned red and closed his mouth. Jenny’s eyebrows rose straight into her hairline at that. Jamie didn’t appreciate the look she was giving him. “Well, she’s no’ a stripper, at least.” Jamie told her. 

 

“You bring strippers to your home?” Claire gasped.  

 

“Not me, Jenny brought the last one here.” Jamie said defensively. 

 

“She told me she was selling cookies for charity. Ye ken how much ye like cookies.” Jenny shrugged, then turned back to the hot mess of an Englishwoman whose lips were busy making silent “o”s like a guppy. “Dinna fash, Claire, the wee bobbles both look pretty.” Jenny assured her. “Besides, once folk get a gander at the ink on yer arm, no one will notice the other.  I swear, Jamie, ye may no’ be the most popular driver on the circuit, but the fans ye do have are the best. I dinna think I’ve ever seen a tattoo quite that impressive.” She beamed. 

 

Next to her, Claire closed her eyes and moaned, trying not to stare at the large strawberry heart and thistle badge that covered a generous portion of her skin from elbow to shoulder. 

 


	20. Chapter Twenty-present

Claire made to spin around on her heel, but her towel slipped, revealing a fantastic side-boob silhouette that gave Jenny a small twinge of envy. Before the bairn, hers could hold their shape, too. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the predatory expression on Jamie’s face, but the leggy brunette didn’t seem to notice. Score one for her little brother, then. She was sick unto death of the string of vapid, self-centered women that wandered in and out of Jamie’s life with the longevity of disposable razors and inspiring about as much interest.  **  
**

Jenny nearly hooted at the sight of Claire’s hair fly wildly around her shoulders as she fought to get her towel back in place with one hand while trying to point a finger at Jamie with the other. This one wasn’t caught up in her own vanity, or Jamie’s, for that matter.

“Stay right where you are, Mr. Fraser. I am going to shower and get dressed, and when I come back, I expect answers.” Claire managed to keep her dignity until she shut the door but the Fraser siblings heard a quiet moan of despair before the sound of water drowned out the noise. 

Jenny pinched his arm. 

“Leave off, Jen that hurt!” He exclaimed, rubbing his wound. No matter the relative size difference, she had a thousand ways of making him feel like her little brother, still. 

“I want answers, too, Jamie. Since when do ye bring women to Lallybroch?” Jenny hissed. 

“She’s no’ “women”, she’s….” Jamie’s cheeks suddenly flushed a nice healthy pink that made Jenny’s heart soar. 

She hadn’t seen a look on his face like that since he had a crush on Miss Grant, their Primary Three teacher.  He made a noise of frustration as he rose.

 “I canna have this conversation on an empty stomach, come to the kitchen and make me some breakfast.” Jamie knew Jenny was burning up with curiosity and she’d gladly pay his price.

Claire was about to enter the kitchen when she noticed her shoelace came undone. As she bent to repair it, her ears picked up Jamie and Jenny’s conversation. Jamie’s sister burst out laughing.

“Yer a bit overqualified for a chauffeur job, but I suppose no’ a bad way to pass the time while yer in limbo. What do ye think Dougal is up to?” 

“I dinna ken. Whatever game he’s playing, I have little choice but to go along wi’ it.” Jamie told her.

“Tell me Hoke, where exactly are ye driving Miss Claire-y?” Jenny’s voice teased, but the question had Claire holding her breath, wondering if he would betray her secrets. 

“Och, everywhere ye can think of. She’s on holiday and taking in the highland sights,” Jamie said in a matter of fact tone. Then chuckled. “Claire’s got a list-- she’s a good one for organizing.” 

Claire let out a sigh of relief and stepped through the door. 

Jamie was sopping up the remains of his eggs with the last of the toast when he caught sight of her. He quirked his lips in satisfaction noting her messy bun, bare face and conservative three-quarter sleeve sweater.  Only a small bit of the tattoo showing under the hemline. It made it possible to forget, for the moment, what lay underneath. As Claire finished plating her breakfast, and came out from behind the kitchen island, though, he saw she’d put her boots back on and was wearing fitted black jeans that hugged her ass rather smartly. 

It was only after she sat down that he realized Jenny had been giving him the eagle eye the whole time. Jenny held his gaze long enough for him to know that he’d been busted. Then, bless her, took mercy on him and engaged Claire in small talk, giving him time to recover his aplomb.  

“So, Claire, tell me about yourself. How are ye enjoying Scotland?” 

By the time breakfast was done, Claire was feeling far more settled. Her headache was nearly gone, she had only thought about the tattoo a few times, and her boob had stopped pinching every time she drew air into her lungs.  Best of all, though, she’d made a new friend. Before Jenny left to grab her son off the preschool bus, they made plans for lunch later in the week, with Jamie volunteering to babysit his nephew for the afternoon. 

o0o

The next couple of days passed in a whirl of activity. Claire spent time each morning transcribing notes, methodically checking items off her list as she went. She’d eliminated several of the names off the transport records, none of them having a thing to do with Alexander MacKenzie or the lost gold.

Jamie had spent a little time looking over the sketches from the Ardsmuir ledgers, trying to identify the various landmarks but while Lord John’s sketches tended to be somewhat repetitions-- at least in regard to the ones of military installations-- then again, he was a soldier. That alone didn’t provide him with any obvious connection to Claire’s research. He looked again to be sure.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

Nothing....He made a note to contact Rabbie Sinclair, a St. A alum who he vaguely remembered had accepted an appointment in the Architectural Restoration Department at the National Trust a few years ago-- Willie had gone to his wedding must be going on five or six years now. Still, he’d remember Jamie and might have some suggestions for figuring out the garrisons depicted.  

One afternoon, Jamie brought Claire to meet the town’s retired music teacher, Hugh Munroe. A much beloved octogenarian now, Hugh, as a teacher, had been exacting in his standards and had a reputation for taking half civilized bairns and turning them into respectable, well-rounded members of society, who, even forty or fifty years later, could still perform their scales with nary a mistake. Jamie knew from his own experience that Hugh had thwacked just as many knuckles of Broch Mordha primary students as had the local headmaster. 

But, sitting in the gloomy rainswept front parlor of Mrs. Baird’s B & B (she having an accessible in tune piano and always happy to welcome visitors), Jamie acknowledged that time had mellowed Hugh’s temperament —to say nothing of the collective memories of generations of local families—- and the man was as close to a cherished village icon as you could get. 

He watched Hugh, his lively face peeking out from under his slouchy, worn flannel hat, the gray color matching his rheumy eyes, as he flirted shamelessly with Claire. She’d explained that she found some old music locked in a box at a white elephant sale and wanted to know what it sounded like but, alas didn’t play, and would he mind terribly…. To which of course he’d said he’d be delighted. 

Mrs. Baird had served a filling high tea, clicking in delight having just made his very favorite extra fudge brownies. His family had always had a soft spot for Mrs. B, for much of his youth had been marked by the sight of Mrs. B’s old station wagon jolting down the road packed full of easy meals and treats she would tuck away in fridge and pantry to relieve his parents — especially his Ma when she wasn’t feeling well, from the stress of having to shop and plan and prepare food for her family. They had never had a single discussion about it, but none of the Fraser children forgot that Mrs. B always seemed to sense when her help would be needed most.

Jamie smiled, unable to imagine having a non-food related interaction with Mrs. B, who believed that everyone’s individual needs started and ended with their stomach.  Visitors to her establishment soon learned the dogged perseverance required of any guest attempting making small talk, or, God forbid, hold an actual conversation with Mrs. B.  The irony being that Mrs. B usually covered such awkwardness by offering more food, thus ensuring anyone insisting on observing the social graces would be rendered unable to do so by the simple expedient of having a mouth full of food. 

Jamie, familiar with her habits, didn’t even try and get her to join them but kissed her cheek, praised her cooking and gracefully let her off the hook. Jamie had, unbeknownst to Claire, come to the village a couple days before and paid her for the room Claire had booked and had yet to step foot in, and wouldn’t, if he had anything to say on the matter. 

Claire, he noticed, had taken Hugh’s hands, rubbed them a bit while they got acquainted and then firmly wrapped them around his warm cup before taking off her cardigan in the over warm parlor and setting the pages out on the stand.  When Hugh got an eye full of Claire’s upper arm he gave an appreciative whistle’ startling her. She gave a little groan and reached for her sweater. 

“Coward,” Jamie said under his breath, for her ears alone. She stood straight up at that, leaving her arms bare and daring either highlander to say a word

While Claire and Hugh played on piano, Jamie, having no ear for music, and no remaining space in his stomach to hold another brownie, restlessly paced the living room floor. 

They’d run through the musical scores and were fast coming to the conclusion that there was nothing unusual or distinctive regarding the sheet music. Hugh sent Claire a knowing smile then rapped his cane on the floor, causing Jamie to instantly come to attention, he didn’t miss the smug look of satisfaction on Hugh’s face-- wee auld bugger had done it on purpose.  

“Supposing ye tell me what this is really aboot?” Hugh’s lips smiled, but his voice was steel. Jamie looked at Claire, who nodded her assent, and he succinctly filled the elder in on the story. Hugh considered for a moment, then asked if he could keep them for a time to study more fully, if only to confirm their initial impressions. 

o0o

The poems were incredibly entertaining. They howled as Claire read them out loud over a bottle of wine at dinner, but this too proved a dead end. 

“I don’t doubt that Mr. Quarry had an Excellent Penis,” Claire sighed, as they finished an Ode to what was undoubtedly the author’s favorite body part, “but unless it’s capable of pointing straight to the treasure chest, and then digging it up for me, I say we’ve read more than enough about its virtues, what about you?” 

“Och, well, I’m a “show don’t tell” sort of a lad anyway,” Jamie quirked his lips and Claire’s sharp intake of breath let him know she had caught his meaning. “Yer a woman of action, Sassenach. Care to see if ye can find the crown jewels?”  

He’d been hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt her tender skin and had made not even the slightest hint regarding their physical relationship. In fact, it was nice the other night to just fall asleep together without making a thing of it.  Yet, it had been building, undeniably humming quietly between them.

The rain storm had worsened in the evening and a loud, rolling boom shook the bed. The energy crackled and in a fork of lightning, she bared her skin and came to rest against him, ice cold against his blazing body. The moan could have been the thunder or her, he didn’t know.  

“Tell me no,” he whispered, even as his hot hands stroked between her trembling thighs. “Remind me I kept yer panties and can take care of myself.” But he didn’t mean it, he knew, and so did she.

This time, it was her making the noise, the thunder taking a back seat to the cascade of heavy, hard rain pounding against the roof. Impatient fingers twisting until she’d worked his shirt free. Her sex pressing against his shoulder and her breasts hovering over his face. 

“Play with me,” she begged. Jamie took her meaning,  swallowed hard and cast his eyes upwards. 

“Christ, I’ve thought of nothing else for two days,” the sound of the rain whipping against the window pane drowned out the rest of his words.  Then she felt his tongue, so warm, on her free nipple. 

“Jesus,” she groaned. 

He slid his hand up to anchor her.  His fingers playing a bit in between her cheeks. Christ she was so hot here. His fingers pressed deep into her core at the exact moment his lips closed around her piercing. She made a noise whose meaning could have been anything from its too much to its not enough. His mouth stopped moving. 

“Good,” she told him feeling his lips fasten harder with the reassurance she wanted more. Claire shifted her weight, pressing and rolling her hips firmly. Jamie’s fingers danced and teased her, he can’t help the bubbling laughter or the small huff of air leaving his mouth when he decided it was time to get serious. He stroked his knuckles against her clit, but mostly he focused on her breast and his mouth, sucking in, tasting the hot metal, feeling her chest expanding on a sharp inhale, then hissing out against his ear. He flicked, then swirled as she rode his hand, pressing her body closer to his.

He lifted his face to look at her. He waited until the room flooded with light again, staring at her until she nodded. Then she bent her head to his. Her hands cradled his cheek bones and she kissed him, a desperate, passionate need that caught him off guard.  A match strike and a flame burst, all in a heartbeat. The sound of labored breathing in his ears, he is surprised to find, is coming from him. Christ, what she does to him without even trying. 

“Please,” she urged him with her fingers pressing firmly against the back of his head, pulling him to her chest. But he resisted, grabbing her for a harder, endless kiss trying to tell her what he had no words to say. 

“Inside,” the desperate tone telling her just as much as the urgent press of his cock at her entrance, and he hesitated for a split second, looking her in the eye and mumbling a  hasty “I must,” by way of apology or explanation, she wasn’t sure. But it was all he could manage before she sank her body home in answer. 

The movement of the storm presses against the windows in random strikes, casting their bodies in grays and blues and blacks. The movement of her against him just as much a force of nature —craving the edge, the bite and the pleasure together. 

The deluge surrounds him inside and out. The rumble followed by a shudder, too could be her or the weather. 

Her body starts to tense but he doesn’t know her well enough yet to tell whether its because she’s about to come or if she’s in pain. He relaxed his mouth, just in case; but she makes a kind of pleading cry and he finds himself biting down harder. His actions become careless and rough, and she is making sounds he’ll never be able to imitate even in memory, but the echo of them will stir his blood for a long time, after. 

A catch of breath sending his attention back to her face. His hands dug deeper into her hips silently urging her toward release and her body goes rigid, quivering in counterpoint to the strobing pulse outside. He arched into her and on a scream she convulsed in long, helpless spasms that suck him deeper into her. 

Transfixed, his hand moved quite without conscious awareness until he felt a finger and thumb close on steel. He gave it a hard, quick tug and they both lost their breath.  He hadn’t known a woman’s body could do that, and looking at the shocked expression on her face, doesn’t think she knew it could, either. He couldn't stop it any more than the cloud stop the rain, release inevitable.  

When he came back to himself, she was laying on top of him, still shaking in his arms. He was soaked. Her hair plastered to his skin, tickling his nose. Instead of brushing it away, he buried his face against her curls.

“All right, Sassenach?” His voice sounded rough. He must have been shouting and not just at the end, he realized. 

“Yes,” her own hoarse tone was full of fatigue. “You?” 

“That was…” he started, tried again, but found himself unequal to the task and kissed her crown instead, moving them so he was spooning behind, wrapping her tight in his arms.

“Next time, Mr. Fraser, it’s your turn to...” she yawned and trailed off.  He realized had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t stand to leave it like that.

“My turn to what, lass?” he asked after nudging her back to wakefulness, dying of curiosity. 

She roused herself with some difficulty. “to...do something to me I that I won’t be able to explain, either.” 

The smile in her voice told him that even in the dark with her back turned she knew his ears were glowing bright red. 

o0o

_Next time: Progress in Edinburgh, French forces jump into the fray and Jenny throws down the gauntlet_


	21. Present-Twenty-One

They were headed for Edinburgh, having planned for a whole day with several stops.  It had been years since Jamie had spent time simply walking around the city and he quite liked showing the place off to Claire. She was dressed in pencil thin black capris and strappy sandals with a deep v-neck blouse that fit up under her bust line then flared out. Her hair was arranged in a high, smooth ponytail and the make up was back on and he, in ratty jeans and an ancient Gellion’s Bar tee shirt, felt like they couldn’t possibly look any more of a cliche. Ah, well, what was one more candid of a famous man looking like a lump next to a gorgeous woman? 

They took in all the usual sights. He was recognized everywhere, of course, calls of Mac Dubh and Fraser, as he was hailed and greeted, sometimes teased, by locals who wanted to ensure his ego didn’t have the chance to grow too large.  For Claire, such scrutiny was new and he was aware of her growing discomfort, not because she said as much, but more by the way she would unclasp his hand and veer off whenever fans approached. Normally, he didn’t mind the attention and looked at such interactions as a way to get more people interested in the sport. 

But this time, Jamie found himself growing more annoyed with the interruptions as the day progressed and Claire grew more withdrawn. She stopped holding his hand all together by mid-morning. By mid-day, she started walking a couple feet behind him. 

She wasn’t of his world, he knew, and the experience of spending the day in a crowded metropolis with a woman who had no idea what she had gotten herself into had been eye-opening. Jamie’s heart sank a bit as he forced himself to acknowledge the obvious: she didn’t deserve to be caught in the crosshairs. Being home, that small oasis where everyone had known him since childhood, had allowed him to pretend his life was normal, because in so far as the townsfolk were concerned, he was just the younger Fraser lad. But out in the rest of the world, he could never just melt into the background. 

Jamie had seen it over and over on the circuit. The spotlight was oppressive. It took a certain kind of personality to stick it out for any length of time as a WAG. Most significant others grew tired of the endless disruptions, the lack of privacy and the ever circling rumor mill that followed racers around the globe. 

During the season, even the parties and down days turned into a grind especially for members of a driver’s family. How many relationships had he seen implode under such strain? It was easier to count how many he’d seen survive, as there were far fewer. A significant amount of money was made and lost between crews betting on when a couple’s breaking point would come.  The fact that F-1 teams used such wagers as a coping mechanism spoke to how screwed up the situation was. 

He should be grateful, then, that the relationship had a built in expiration date a little over a week from now when Claire was scheduled to return to Oxfordshire. He wasn’t accustomed to the emptiness that swept over him at the thought of rambling around Lallybroch without seeing her there. Then Jamie realized that he’d been so preoccupied with Claire and her plans that he’d entirely forgotten he had plans of his own. 

What the hell had he been thinking? Instead of resenting the distance between them, he should be thankful for it. Especially when he knew fine and well he had no future to offer the lass.  Aside from the fact he had no prospects with which to keep a wife-- let alone children-- once his racing career ended— statistically speaking, they had virtually no chance of lasting as a couple while he was still racing. 

Jamie sighed and looked at her luminous face, smiling at the antics of a dog and a child across the way from them. She was so captivating, just watching her made his throat ache  and chest feel tight. He could see from the appreciative looks cast her way that he wasn’t the only one who saw her thus. He hoped he’d helped her to mend. He prayed she’d remember their brief affair with joy. 

He reminded himself that he was her rebound fling and that was all he would ever, could ever be. He had a mission of his own and he couldn’t afford to get side-tracked, no matter how much he was enjoying the journey. With renewed resolve, Jamie focused on doing his job- which, at the moment, was as Claire’s tour guide. 

“Is this the place you were telling me about on the way down? Will you tell me again now that I can picture it?” Claire’s lips curled in a smile, happy to have him to herself for the moment. 

“Och aye, well, see the cobblestones wi’ the brass “S”es? They mark the boundaries of the Abbey Sanctuary. There’s a particular story about a rum merchant who was counting on a shipment from Jamaica to pay off his creditors and save him from the gaol. He walked into a tavern by the quay in time to overhear the first mate of a clipper ship talking about sailing past the wreckage of a Jamaican freighter downed in a fierce nor’easter. Unfortunately for him, one of his creditors was sitting at a nearby table and noticed him coming in and started charging after him. He didna even have time to ask whether it was the ship wi’ his rum or not, he just spun back the way he came and ran as fast as he could. He didna stop until he was tackled from behind. When he hit the ground, his arms, head and chest landed in the Abbey but his feet stayed in Canongate, and his pursuer wouldna let go.”  

“What happened?” Claire prodded. 

“They roused the judge from his own supper, he wasna best pleased, to be sure. But he comes ‘round and takes a look. Then decrees that as the gentleman’s more noble features had crossed into safety it seemed only fair to allow his more questionable parts to bide there as well.” Jamie said smiling. 

“In England, old churches have brass rings on their doors. During battle or persecution, anyone who could reach the ring was given forty days of protection.”

“Only forty days?” Jamie snorted, “in Scotland, there’s nay limit. Yer free to stay indefinitely. So long as ye remain within the Sanctuary lines, none may touch ye.” 

“That’s not exactly freedom, is it? Seems to me something like that may start out as a refuge, but ends up a prison all the same.” 

As they wandered around the inner courtyard at the Edinburgh palace, Jamie placed his arm unobtrusively around her lower back, resisting the urge to pull her to him. The crowds from lunch had thinned out, everyone returning to work, most likely, and Claire, he’d noticed, didn’t reach take his hand in hers but she gave him a smile that soothed his unsettled mind. He was turning to make some remark or other when something caught his attention and he lengthened his stride.  

“Find something?” Claire asked, a little breathless having broken into a jog seeing his excited expression.  

“Aye, maybe. Do ye recall the drawings in the folio?” 

“The ones of the mystery fort?” Claire nodded but Jamie was too busy scrolling through the pictures on his phone to notice. 

“What if is wasna a fort at all? Look there, Sassenach.” Jamie pointed to the building dead ahead.“I think he was drawing Holyrood House. Here, to be exact.” Jamie gave her the phone.  

“Oh, yes, the wing over there is gone now, but the rest of it is a match. Why did he draw it so often?” Claire wondered handing it back. 

“I dinna ken.” Jamie was lost in thought, flipping back and forth between the pictures on his phone, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring the papers with him.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

  


 

 

Claire leaned in to look over his shoulder at them, too but tripped on an uneven patch of ground, careening into his side and throwing him off balance. Jamie’s lightning fast reflexes allowed him to stay on his feet, but it was a near thing. Then,  at that moment, the sun broke through the clouds and glinted off the windows, making Jamie’s eyes water. 

“The windows.” He breathed.

“What?” Claire asked. 

“Look, here and here,” Jamie said pointing. The colors are different but that isna the main thing, why are different squares blocked out on different windows?” 

“That seems like a small detail, perhaps he was bored?” 

“No, I dinna think so. I think this is a coded message.” 

Claire didn’t say anything but her raised eyebrow asked the question anyway. 

“Back at St. A’s I had a math teacher who was fed up wi’ students asking him the point of learning formulas and such and so every Friday, he would tell us stories about how applied math worked in the real world. He told one about ciphers and frequency analysis during the Thirty Years’ War-- a surprise attack on a walled city.  The enemy couldn’t breech the fortifications so they decided to lay siege. They controlled the roads in and out and stopped folk from entering by telling them there was an outbreak of plague in the city.  They figured that eventually the inhabitants would be weakened by starvation and be easier to defeat in an attack. Patience no’ brute force would win the battle, but they needed time and couldna risk outsiders thinking anything was amiss. They killed all the messengers, of course, but delivered enough packages to allay suspicion for a time. The mayor of the city was just as determined to get word to the governor to send reinforcements. Well, one package they allowed through to the governor was a painting of the new church built with some funds from the capital. Seemed innocent enough. But what they didna ken was that the artist hid a coded message right under their noses using the stained glass windows. The church didna even have stained glass, but, of course, the enemy hadna seen the real thing so couldna have known that. All the governor had to do was look at the painting and use the code key. It was common practice back then to encrypt all letters containing affairs of state in code and ensure that the keys were closely guarded.” Jamie explained. 

“So the governor got the picture, decoded the message and saved the city!” Claire guessed. 

“Och, no, actually, by the time the governor noticed the glass was all wrong, the city had been wi’out food for weeks and the water’d run low. The town rebelled by digging tunnels to get outside, as soon as the enemy noticed they were able to get inside the walls and defeat the mayor. When the governor’s regiment came riding to the rescue, the enemy soldiers disguised themselves as locals so the militia wouldna ken anything was amiss. Some of the men even went so far as dressing as women,  and they slaughtered the lot.” Jamie gave her a rueful look. “Tis a famous story and the Grey brothers were both British Army, ye said?” Claire nodded, “So, my guess is these windows aren’t shaded like this by mistake.” 

“So all we need to do is break the code.” Claire stared at the pictures as he flicked back and forth. Then looked up at him with a puzzled frown. 

“Well, aye, would be a good deal simpler if we had the key.” Jamie acknowledged. “But at least we ken to be on the lookout for it. When we get back home, we’ll take another look at the letters from the brothers Gray, see if they mention a book or other drawings-- didn’t they talk about a tutor of theirs? Mayhap there will be something in registers from Ardsmuir.” He said, warming to the possibilities. “Come, Sassenach, let’s walk the grounds of the Park. It’s too fine a day no’ to enjoy.” 

When they arrived back at Lallybroch around supper time, it was to find a gorgeous man leaning casually against a low slung Alfa Romeo. A  soft wolf whistle slipped from her lips, causing Jamie to laugh a little. His eyes shifted sideways but he couldn’t tell which of the two— the car or the man— had caused Miss Kitty to purr.  

Claire let Jamie greet his friend alone, watching as he wrapped the man in the gentlest of bear hugs, shifting back to take him in, noting the cast on the wrist, and the bandages wrapped around his middle when he lifted his shirt to show them off. Jamie made a distressed kind of chuffing noise, patted him gently and  pulled him to his chest once more. 

By the time she’d come to stand beside Jamie, they were exchanging rapid fire insults in a colorful explosion of French of which she was able to catch every third or fourth word. Claire had heard Jamie occasionally speaking Gaelic but now she marveled at the ease with which he slid between French and English, introducing her to Fergus St. Germain, whom she gathered was a fellow driver.  

“Where’s Kirsten?” Jamie asked, some time later, pulling the cork off some excellent wine Fergus had brought with him. 

“She is with Gordy now.” Fergus said. 

Jamie’s eyebrows rose a bit, but he wasn’t really surprised. Fergus cycled through F-1 groupies, who, having nailed one driver moved to the next, then down the line to pit crew and so on like scouts collecting merit badges. It didn’t say much for the sport in general but then again every player - driver, lady and crew alike knew the rules of the game and who was he to pass judgment?

“Gordy?” Claire interjected.

“Drives for Mercedes.” Jamie told her. 

“She wanted to go to Spain.” Fergus shrugged. Jamie nodded and turned to Claire. 

“The next Grand Prix,” Jamie explained, “one of the biggest galas of the season, everyone wants to go but the venue is small. Fergus is out for the next-?” 

“Two weeks, they say but I have asked to be cleared early for Monaco.” He pulled his hair out of the bun that had been gathered loosely off his shoulders, the curls came tumbling down. He was breathtaking, Claire could not help but stare at him. 

“His car turtled,” Seeing her blank expression, he amended, “turned upside down and it took a bit to get him out, a couple of broken ribs and wrist.” Jamie told her. 

“And stitches where I got caught on some glass.” Fergus motioned to his side. 

“When do those come out?” Claire asked. 

“A few days, I think.” Fergus shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you taking medication?” She asked, “Should you be drinking that?” 

“Why would I not be drinking this?” Fergus asked baffled. 

“Because, sometimes it’s contraindicated.” Claire said patiently but with a small huff of concern. “Are you on pain meds?” Fergus shook his head and Claire relaxed, “then you should be fine.” 

“You are English, no?” Fergus asked her. 

“Yes, from Oxfordshire,” Claire told him, “on my first holiday to Scotland, Jamie has been kind enough to put me up and show me around.”

Fergus was staring hard at her face. “You must really be enjoying it in that case.” 

Claire realized he was staring at her nose. She had almost forgotten about the map. In Fraser colors, no less. She couldn’t help self-consciously scratching her cheek in response.  

She offered to make dinner so Jamie could catch up with his friend, who evidently was a frequent enough guest here that he had more or less a permanent abode over the stables. 

“You keep horses?” Claire asked, having not seen any animals at all, let alone something so large. 

“During the season they board at Jenny’s. Ye should stop by her place, Fergus, while yer here. I ken Ian would love to take ye shooting. They’ve got a hired hand who he says is an even better marksman than you.” 

“I will have to put him to the test, then, I cannot let my place be usurped by an interloper.” Fergus laughed. “Come, Jamie, help me get the rest of this bordeaux out of the trunk.  

By the time she’d put the finishing touches on dinner, neither Jamie or Fergus had come back in the house. She went outside and followed the sound of clashing metal and half-hearted name calling. 

She watched in disbelief as they brandished swords at one another. She also noted the bottle of wine, upended and obviously drained as it lay discarded near her feet.  

“Fencing?” She cried out. “Don’t tell me that you thought that would be a good idea, for Christ's sake, he’s a broken arm and his ribs are wrapped like a mummy!” She scolded. 

Jamie stared at her, mouth agape. The starchy tone was familiar enough, but not the genuine alarm he heard in her tone.  She came to rest in front of Fergus and placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his forehead. 

Fergus, was tall enough to allow him to stare down at her...and the deep vee of her wrap around blouse.  He cleared his throat and Fergus shot him a cheeky grin that didn’t help at all, especially with Claire’s hands flying over the brash wee peacock’s chest and abs. Jamie’s eyes narrowed and a feral growl came from deep in his chest. She didn’t notice, busy as she was untucking Fergus’s shirt from his jeans. 

“Sassenach,” Jamie started protesting, knowing Fergus wasn’t about to call a halt to being felt up by the industrious Brit.  

“If you caused his stitches to come undone, I will throttle you. Honestly, how old are you two?” She couldn’t get the bandages off without scissors and sighed, pulling Fergus by the hand and calling over her shoulder to Jamie, “Dinner is ready, I’ll just see about his wounds and meet you at the table.” 

Jamie ignored her pointed dismissal, and having some experience of the woman in action mode, he calmly leaned up against the counter in the kitchen. Claire bustled about redressing Fergus’s wound, which had, unfortunately, opened up and was oozing a little blood. He was fine, Jamie thought darkly, it was just a scratch. 

Fergus was murmuring highly complimentary things to Claire in French, keeping his body closer to her than was proper and grazing his fingertips across her skin making it seem like an accident.  

Jamie had never seen her doctoring anyone and noticed at once she had a rare, healing sort of touch. But that didn’t mean she should be touching him so much, he thought, glossing over the fact that he wasn’t being rational about it. Jamie’s eyes hovered suspiciously. Fergus was being cute and bubbly and far too delightful for his own good. 

Claire kept up her end of the discussion, in passable French. Small, short sentences that invited Fergus to sing his own praises, though Jamie admitted Claire was most likely trying to distract him.  

“You move quick for an injured man.” Claire remarked. Fergus launched into a story of his brief career as a pickpocket in Paris which she seemed to think was an embellished account of his childhood, but Jamie knew was, in fact, all true. 

“Its good thing that the officer was a woman and you are so handsome,” Claire caressed his shoulder as she leaned in. Fergus actually blushed. Jamie snorted and felt his ears turn red, but he kept his lips firmly closed. 

“And when did you learn to...ride?” She was asking hesitating as she tripped over the words. 

“You ride, Sassenach, we,” Jamie said in his flawless French pointing to himself and Fergus with a slight air of superiority, “drive.” 

Claire kept her head bent to her task and made a non-committal sound which Fergus took as an invitation to reply. Upon which he launched into another tale-- this one of  juvenile joyriding, using his hands in that particularly French style. He practically oozed sex appeal, which Jamie had seen him deploy many a time but only now found exceedingly annoying. 

Claire tugged the bandage in place, Fergus gasped a little. 

“Pardon, I didn’t mean to push.” She stopped for a moment and Jamie grunted “tirez”. Claire gave him a look, uncertain if he was correcting her directional or her French.  

“I am fine, my lady,” Fergus nodded gallantly and motioned for her to continue. Jamie mmphed in response. 

Fergus glanced sideways, gaging Jamie’s mood then deliberately pressed in closer to Claire and murmured something too softly for Jamie to hear but he knew he was dropping little French sweet nothings in her ear. 

“No, I have never kissed a Frenchman,” Claire whacked him playfully.

Fergus gave a low laugh and chided, “come now, such a maidenly answer when you know what I asked was if you had ever ——” 

“Did ye say dinner was ready, Sassenach?” Jamie had enough of this and squeezed himself between the two of them, ostensibly to wash his hands at the sink he could have easily gotten to by going around their positions.  

“Yes, I put it all in the oven to keep warm,” Claire replied,  pretending his behavior wasn’t boorish. 

Fergus shot his friend a look, switching back to English as they assembled the meal and sat to eat. As the conversation bounced around the table, back and forth in different languages, Jamie realized that Claire was largely picking French words based on her ability to remember and pronounce them rather than on whether they fit the exact phrase she needed. Well used to variable French, Fergus responded to the spirit that lay behind the words, making Jamie even more aware of what an ill mannered ass he could be sometimes.

On top of that, Jamie found himself unaccountably clumsy during dinner, dropping his fork, spilling water, accidentally, he told himself, interrupting Fergus whenever he said something that made Claire laugh. A numpty, that was what he was. Nothing he didn’t already know, he reminded himself. 

Fergus was now launching into a discussion on Balzac and various translations of his work. He picked literature just to vex him, Jamie thought perhaps Claire was also paying him back a little of his own, rubbing it in by talking about various first and second editions, knowing he’d have naught to say in the matter. 

If there was one thing Jamie knew how to do well it was pretend not to care whenever frozen out of a conversation due to his own limitations. He tuned out the discussion and noted in an objective way that Fergus was far more graceful than he. Refined bone structure, narrow frame, and he moved with a fluidity that made it seem like he could flow over the air itself. 

Fergus clasped Claire’s hand in his, making a joke about palm reading. Jamie stared at their fingers dancing together. 

Then he looked at his own hands, noting his hulking body with a wing span approximating that of a passenger jet, fat sausage fingers and thighs...well, no his legs actually were rather well done, he admitted, a little lengthy perhaps. Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, noticing the way the wood creaked and groaned under his solid body. His fingers gripped his fork and knife tighter. 

“Jamie?” Claire’s fingers touched his gently, and he realized she had been trying to get his attention. 

“Sorry, Sassenach, I was wool gathering. Are ye finished wi’ yer plate?” He gave her a quick smile and rose to start clearing the table, not waiting for her response. 

Claire retired early, leaving Fergus and Jamie in the study to talk shop. Uncertain what to make of their strange dinner,  Claire instead decided to review her notes. She looked briefly at the pictures. She wondered if there was any significance to the drawings being of the Prince’s castle in particular?  Maybe it was simply proximity to the garrison? She dug out Frank’s special Military Ordinance map. He’d painstakingly drawn in the official route taken by the Price after the battle-- a swirling mass of circles and backtracks all over the highlands. On it were notes showing where the Stuart Papers, personally held in the Queen’s archive and generally unavailable to the public, and the Cumberland Papers contained contradictory information. 

She got her compass and made projections and realized that Ardsmuir and the Holyrood Garrison were not close enough for proximity to be the reason Lord John used that as his subject matter. Claire focused on the map, thinking. 

One of the things Frank had drilled into Claire was the disconnect between the modern study of Scottish history and what a researcher could expect to find in old archives. 

“Don’t forget that the Gaelic language, already subject to erratic spellings and geographic vernacular, was systematically eradicated from the culture. Person, place and thing. Simple enough, right?” Frank asked, and Claire nodded. “Today, we take for granted that most everything we know can be classified with ease. But that wasn’t the case centuries ago. Take a map-- we know now that things like scale and location of one place relative to another place was highly subjective.” 

“You mean like those funny maps showing England at the center of the world and larger than Europe?” 

“Quite. As for Scotland, the British Army employed whole teams of regimental cartographers to make Military Ordnance maps wherever they were deployed. Many of the best Scottish maps from the 18th century were created during the Rising. But even so, they aren’t reliable. There was no uniform system of scale or symbols for map makers until the 19th century. Some of the cartographers were trained surveyors but many were not and very few spoke the language.”

“And everything had to be copied by hand so how did the maps survive all this time?” 

“Ah, well the Army does everything in triplicate.” Frank joked. “But yes Army maps were vulnerable to human error even if the original mapmaker got it right. But private cartographers would sell their work to publishing houses. A Dutch company cornered the market in atlases which were sold to mariners.  Often the coastlines on such maps were accurate and updated with some frequency owing to the economic incentives involved. Every ship captain needed one. But an inland survey presented serious logistical hurdles. Engravers also played an important role. While very few original cartography field notes have survived, where they do, comparisons show that publishers made errors in transcription or changes draft maps for aesthetic reasons-- like fitting the map on a standard sized page for printing but once printed the reproductions were at least consistent.” 

“You know, I am beginning to believe your job is a lot of work!” Claire told him. He grinned. 

“Highland names are deceptive. Take something fairly straightforward like a militia muster roll. If I wanted to find out what happened to a captain on that roll, I would go in search of his name in later records. But, depending on who made the list and when it was translated from one language to another, any number of inconsistencies could have arisen making it harder for me to trace his fate. We don’t even know the lists are accurate in and of themselves without actually pulling up the original muster roll because over time, historians -- many with good intentions--- were not shy about correcting what they perceived as misspellings and other defects in the original source material. Later historians didn’t bother to go to the Archives which usually involved traveling to whatever University or government office held the papers and retrieving the original document but instead would use those corrected lists to compare to other official papers. So when you are reading a family archive and come across an interesting character named Seumas Macdonnell. Using circumstantial evidence such as clan allegiance, rank and unit you could figure out that Seumas is the same man as Captain Hamish MacDomhnaill on the muster roll. But when you don’t find any further traces of Seumas Macdonnell or Hamish MacDomhnail in any prisoner or witness lists or transport records, you conclude he died in battle and he is lost to history forever. Later historians will have no reason to suspect that the man identified as Captain James MacDonald in a 1748 court record sentenced to transportation to the Colonies is one and the same as Seumas Macdonnell and Hamish MacDomhnail unless someone hundreds of years later is doing research on James and realizes there is no record of a James MacDonald on any original muster roll and starts to work backwards to find him.”

“Though couldn’t that be a benefit, too? I mean if the English wanted to hang James MacDonald, might he plead mistaken identity in which case any number of his men would truthfully swear he was Seamus Macdonnell and he’s off the hook?” 

“Sometimes. Though in the aftermath of Culloden, many of the rank and file turned state’s evidence in exchange for leniency. Feuding clans wasted no time in abusing that outlet to settle old scores and the British court system wasn’t overly particular about the quality of the information provided.” Frank had told her. 

“How did they even manage to deal with the thousands of  men held after the Rising? The court must have been tied up for years.” Claire said. 

“Not really. The British cared more about making an example of the high ranking officers among the Jacobites. For regular militia members they implemented a lottery system.” 

“Lottery? I take it you are being facetious?” 

“Oh, no. They placed eleven pieces of white paper and one of black in a hat and the men drew lots. The odd man out stood trial.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Mhmm, very. The men likely thought it was fair enough. The British had no way to humanely deal with so many Scots prisoners. There was no place to house them, let alone funds set aside for the local constabulary to provide food, medicine or blankets. Overcrowding, unsanitary living conditions, and starvation. This was the experience of almost every man captured. A one in twelve chance to be released from that hell presented excellent odds-- like winning the lottery.”  

Claire retrieved one of the research resource books she had on her kindle and brushed up on code breaking. When she was done, she turned back to the drawings, this time knowing what she was looking for.

Claire noticed one of the patterns, the one blocking a lower row appeared several times and assigned the letter “e” to it, knowing, statistically, that letter was the most common one in the English language. Following that logic, she also wrote down the other four most popular letters: “a”, followed by  “r”, “t”,  and “n”. 

She then began to play a game of hangman with herself trying to figure out whether each picture was a separate word or combinations of words. Without the key, she was hitting a brick wall. 

She pulled out the Ardsmuir roster and made lists of names that matched the number of coded letters in each picture. She ended up with too many names to narrow her search in any helpful way. 

Dead ends and false starts was all she had to show for it by the time Jamie came up to bed. He came into the room just as she was trying to figure out how to hang Frank’s map above the desk, hoping it would inspire her.

“Och, let me help ye there, Sassenach.” Jamie reached  over intent on rescuing his damsel only to hook his foot awkwardly on her chair and send her kit of supplies careening to the floor. He let out a string of curses in what Claire thought was Gaelic, his rough mood of earlier that night rearing its ugly head again. 

Jamie was kneeling down, about to gather pens, rulers, magnifying glass and assorted tools back into the kit when she heard him say, “Claire? I am sorry.” 

He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Instead she watched the light play through the swirling curls on the top of his head waiting for him to clear the air but soon it became obvious he wasn’t willing to say anything further on the subject. 

“Can I ask why?” Claire watched his body tense. He was breathing in that deliberate, careful way he did when he was trying to control his own emotions. 

Jamie’s instincts kicked in. Never explain. Don’t try to justify. He barely understood himself, how in the world could he find the right words? She would only twist what he said around anyway and damn it he said he was wrong and she knew he was sorry. Why was that not good enough?  He bit his lip least the temptation to give in overwhelm his scruples. He made a noise of distress and frustration, ignoring the question and instead gave all his attention to sweeping everything into the kit with far more force than  necessary. Claire sighed. Bloody stubborn man. 

Suddenly, Jamie cried out with an edge of pain in it as well.

“What is it?” Instinctively, she stepped toward him so close he could bury his face against her stomach if he wanted. 

Jamie thought of being stoic for a moment but the memory of her tending Fergus came back and looked up at her.  

“Yon compass stabbed my hand.” He said with a whiff of accusation.

“Serves you right. I should let you suffer.” She told him trying not to smile at the sight of him on his knees, injured hand held up like some kind of supplicant begging for mercy. 

“Aye,” he agreed. 

They stared at one another, neither willing to back down, but Jamie stayed on his knees which she thought was not accidental on his part and her heart squeezed beginning to let go of her own upset. Jamie’s upturned eyes never left her face as he slowly reached his good hand toward her. She jumped a little when he clasped his fingers gently on her breast, rolling his fingertips until he felt her nipple ring. 

“I call sanctuary,” he said.  

Claire laughed in surprise and Jamie grinned up at her. He pressed his head into her, wrapping his arm firmly around her and sighed in relief feeling her lips kissing the top of his head.  

o0o

Jamie and Fergus left mid-morning to visit the horses and make good on Jamie’s promise to watch his nephew so Claire and Jenny could go to lunch. They’d spoken on the phone several times, Claire eventually telling Jenny what she was really doing in the Highlands. Claire had been very much looking forward to an afternoon off until Jenny marched her out the front door.

“Well, then, come along, Claire, we canna leave ye in such a state.” Jenny tugged her elbow all but forcing Claire to walk down the drive. 

“Wait, what are you doing? Where are you taking--- oh no, no no no, I can’t drive.” 

“Of course ye can. Ye dinna ken how and ye have some worries, but any woman wi’ baws large enough to take on Jamie can do anything she sets her mind to, watch yer head.” She said, closing the door and racing to the passenger side before Claire could gather wits enough to escape. 

The keys were still clenched in Claire’s hand when Jenny snapped her seat belt in place. 

Claire stared at her. Jenny glared right back and made a Scottish noise so reminiscent of her brother that Claire smiled, despite herself. 

“Are ye no’ the same person that got her nose pierced and arm tattooed on the same night she drank my brother under the table?” 

“I...well, yes.” Claire answered. 

“And are ye no’ the woman who is leading a search for a lost treasure even though everyone else thinks the cause is doomed?” 

“Yes...I am.” 

“Well, that woman is no’ about to spend her life being carted hither and yon like luggage, is she?” Jenny told her firmly. 

Claire slipped the key into the ignition.

“Oh God,...oh God...oh God,” Claire chanted, fingers white from gripping the wheel so hard. 

“Och, yer doing splendid.” Jenny told her. “When ye get to the end of the drive turn left.” 

“On the road? On the actual highway?” Claire said alarmed. 

“Highway forsooth!” Jenny smiled. “If we so much as see a sheep on the road that will constitute rush hour, dinna fash,” 

Jenny ignored the lurch of the car as Claire hit the breaks several feet from the edge and saying nothing as Claire jumped and heaved the car up to the turn off point. By the time the road changed from dirt to pavement they were a good jot past the house and Claire had hit a top speed of 10 km.  

“What’s that up there?” Claire exclaimed. 

“A curve.” 

“Where does it go?” There was a faint edge of hysteria in her voice. 

“Around a bend, relax Claire. Yer doing splendid. Tell me about your favorite birthday when you were a child?” Jenny asked by way of distraction and managed to get her almost to Broch Mordha. There was traffic in the distance and she could feel Claire start to panic. 

“Just stay exactly as ye are, no, dinna hit the brake the car is going the other way, and no danger to you so long as  ye just stay in yer lane.” 

“I’m not good at this, I shouldn’t be doing this. I need to pull over, and have you drive.” Claire was breathing hard as the car passed, going about three times her speed.  When Claire looked in her rearview she squeaked. There were four or five cars backed up behind her. “Oh God! Jenny what about them?” She gestured with her chin not daring to take a hand off the wheel. “What if they try and pass me? There will be an accident. People will die!” She was starting to hyperventilate and Jenny thought it quite likely that Claire’s parents had died under such circumstances. 

“They’ll bide. Yer in Jamie’s car and no one would ever dare to pass Himself.” 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Claire ground the gears and Jenny tried not to wince, “Isn’t that the pub?” 

Jenny squinted. Sure enough about three blocks away.

“Well spotted. When we get a little closer you’ll pull in and park.” She said calmly. Claire shot her a quick look of shock. 

“I can’t do that!” 

Jenny shrugged. “Well ye can keep driving if ye like. This road will take us all the way to Inverness. Turns to four lanes just a bit outside town.” 

“I can’t do that!” She repeated.

“Oh, there’s a nice spot there, turn the wheel.” Jenny suggested. Claire nearly hit Mr. MacNab’s coup and then over corrected and tapped Maggie Shaw’s little scooter which teetered and wobbled but held itself upright. 

“Oh God.” Claire said resting her head on the wheel shaking in relief. 

“Ye did grand, Claire! My brother gave me his credit card and I think this calls for a celebration.” Claire hadn’t moved. Jenny tried again. “Whisky?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The drawing was done by Thomas Shepherd who was born in the late 1700s. He was a watercolor painter who made many architectural renderings during his life. 
> 
> Most of the little anecdotes in this chapter were inspired by events that are purported to be true. I am not sure how accurate they are in truth but for anyone curious about it here are some sources:  
> The Jacobite Database of 1745 is a blog with the ambitious goal of using big data techniques to provide accurate records of the Rising and the men and women who joined the cause. This post explains their work:  
> https://jdb1745.net/littlerebellions/why-the-need-for-a-jacobite-database-part-1/
> 
> The history of mapmaking and the high degree of subjectivity involved was something I hadn’t really considered -- Those interested in old Sottish maps, will find lots of resources out there. Here are a couple interesting ones.  
> http://www.chartingthenation.lib.ed.ac.uk/mapscot.html  
> https://gisforthought.com/historic-maps-of-scotland-from-blaeu-to-dorret-1600-1700/
> 
> The flight of the Bonnie Prince after Culloden is the stuff of legend. Most stories focus on Flora MacDonald and the fact that the Price escaped disguised as a woman but he was on the run from April until almost the end of September criss-crossing between the mainland and the islands and looping endlessly back again all through the Highlands. Here is a blog that maps the whole exhausting journey.  
> https://uploads.knightlab.com/storymapjs/815348eeff04ac5f2c74ba9caf14603f/the-flight-of-bonnie-prince-charlie/index.html
> 
> Finally for those interested in Steganography -which is using pictures with hidden codes like the one in the story, check out Johannes Balthasar Friderici's Cryptographia.


	22. Present- Chapter 22

Claire and Jenny were giggling about both being Lady Rangers as children, debating which badge had been the hardest to get, and trying to be quiet about it which made Jenny snort and broke the dam. They let it all out, finally subsided, only to shake with helpless mirth a minute later. 

On impulse, Jenny gave Claire’s h and a pat, wiping her eyes, “Thank you for coming out with me, I canna remember when last I had a chance to make a new friend. When ye live your  whole life in one place ye get lazy about it.”

Claire gave her fingers a return squeeze. “You and I connect so well because we are nurturers.” 

“Aye, but like me, yer so busy caring for others, ye havena taken any time to care for yerself.” Jenny said sagely. 

Claire blinked at her, the simple truth of her observation undeniable. “In that case, your Lady Ranger Mission is to help me remember to do that.” This last was accompanied by a flourishing approximation of the three finger salute of the organization.

“I dinna want to be an auld woman whose children have grown and flown wi’ no friends of my own. Yer Lady Ranger Mission will be reminding me to cherish my friends like my family.” It was a heartfelt statement, but when she looked at Claire, the lass was biting her lip to suppress the upward tilt of her lips. Jenny shot her a raised brow and Claire dissolved into whoops of laughter once more.

“Grown and flown and all alone,” She sing-songed. Jenny burst out laughing, too. 

At that moment, a sharply dressed, well groomed man with slick-backed hair burst into the pub looking as if the world owed him its thanks. Jenny abruptly shut her mouth and cast her eyes downward. Claire, on the other hand, whipped her head wildly around to source the reason for the mood swing. 

“Dinna make eye contact.” Jenny whispered fiercely.  Claire gaped at her. “His name is Phillip Wylie but we call him the barnacle. Once he globs on to you, ye canna shake him. I met him when Jamie was still Kart racing and made the mistake of going on a couple of dates with him. He’s a third rate driver when he can con a team owner into taking him on as a sub, but these days he makes his living writing what he calls an “insiders” subscription race blog. Mostly he puts shite in a bucket and stirs. He blames Jamie for getting him fired from his test driver position wi’ Lotus. The wee fool was trying to impress a lass, got drunk and boasted about a prototype he’d just tested. Lotus had invested millions in the tech and Sandringham nearly beat them to the patent office. Jamie may have mentioned that he’d seen Wylie out wi’ the daughter of Sandringham’s chief engineer, but so did any number of folk. Not a discrete bone in his body has Phillip Wylie.” 

As if hearing his name from across the room, Wylie’s head came up and he gave a grunt of satisfaction spotting Jenny. She groaned when she saw him moving in their direction. 

“Well, well, well Miss Fraser, a fine day to you, love.” 

“It was until ye darkened yon doorway and ye can turn right ‘round and return from whence ye came.” Jenny told him.

“Is that any way to treat a friend of the family?” Wylie chastised as he made to join them at the table. 

“Friend isna the word I would choose myself. Ye’ll no be setting yer arse on that chair,” Jenny promised him as she deftly hooked the chair leg around her ankle, holding it firmly in place despite Wylie’s confused tugging and pulling. After a moment of struggle, Phillip shrugged. Seeing him giving up, Jenny added, “Bugger off” to the considerable delight of fellow patrons, who were watching the show avidly. 

“Only if you promise to watch while I do.” This response was met with hoots from the peanut gallery. Wylie seemed to inflate with the new attention. Claire couldn’t help but take note of his very charming smile as he acknowledged the other patrons. “Introduce me to your date.” 

“No and go!” Jenny added, not daring to look at Claire and risk a laugh over the accidental rhyme.

“Another round, gascon.” Wylie snapped his fingers and spun one of the chairs from another table around, sitting down before Janet could do more mischief. 

“The word is garson ye half-wit and you can shove yer----”

“I’m Claire, a friend of Jenny’s from Oxford,” Claire jumped in. 

“Well, at least someone was taught her manners. Jenny is still unable to let go of her petty resentments, I see,” Wylie commented. 

“Still unable to find a sponsor on or off the track, I see,” Jenny’s lips quirked up seeing his face reddened. “Ye might try using facts instead of whatever nonsense pops into yer head.” 

“My fans know my information comes straight from the track,” Wylie said, “and when it proves unreliable, I issue corrections.” 

“Six weeks later and usually buried in a passing comment regarding some other piece of fiction ye’ve written, which is how ye handled _setting the record straight_ about the last lie ye told about me and mine.” Jenny’s fingers made quote marks for Claire’s benefit. 

“And yet, no one from Team Jamie has denied it.” 

Jenny snorted. “This huffy fart whistle claimed my brother was a result of an affair between my grandfather and my mother.” 

“Well you must admit the resemblance is quite remarkable,” Wylie defended. Jenny sputtered but refrained from saying the obvious. 

Things were just about to turn ugly when the bell above the door chimed again, Jenny and Claire turned their heads in time to see Fergus walk in accompanied by a flaxen haired woman projecting the quintessential “girl next door” vibe. Jenny seemed taken aback at his arrival but relieved none-the-less. 

When Fergus spotted her guest he rolled his eyes in annoyance, but sweet lad, didn’t shirk his duty and promptly came to rescue them. 

Marsali McKimmon wasn’t what she’d expected hearing about the new laborer Jenny had hired on at Lallybroch.  Apparently she really was a brilliant marksman and they’d come in to make good on his forfeit-- she’d won a round of drinks from Fergus.  

“Och, no’ ale, whisky, if ye please Rabbie. Oh, and it’s on the house for everyone!” Marsali said, blushing at the round of applause that sprung up at her announcement. 

“Did I no’ warn ye, laddie, she’s the best shot I’ve ever seen?” Jenny said wincing, wondering why Fergus bet so strongly, even forewarned.   

“Oh no, mistress, I am not such a poltroon I do not heed the advice of my betters. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. The pub is drinking on Jamie’s credit at present.” Fergus reassured her, smiling as her brows rose up into her hairline. 

“Did my clot-heid of a brother no’ hear me either?” Jenny scowled as the jukebox started up, adding to the generally festive atmosphere as Rabbie lined up the glasses on the bar. 

“He did, Ms. Murray,” Marsali’s dimples deepened as she took up the story. “But he lost a bet with wee Jamie-- I staked him two to one odds, the younger not the elder, and...well, here we are and to the victor go the spoils.” Masali added. 

Wylie was, as to be expected, avidly following every word, none of it, alas, compelling enough for his next podcast. However, he also had exclusive access at the moment to Fergus St. Germain, who was entertaining enough on his own. If he could get _both_ Fergus and Jamie together though…the wheels started turning. First things first, he reminded himself and turned his charm on Fergus, who sighed in weary resignation. 

“There is no story, Phillip. I just had time and flew over to visit my friends.” 

“Maybe,” Phillip said but plainly not in agreement. “Thoughts about Rachel Hunter’s performance last week?”

Fergus’s expression took on a wary note, remembering that Wylie was a vocal opponent of women drivers. He glanced over at the women and noted they were chatting together and paying him no mind, which was good because he rather thought if any one of the three, Jenny, Marsali or the mysterious Mistress Beauchamp caught wind of the direction Wylie was obviously trying to go, they’d have his balls in a vice in two seconds flat, and he was concerned he’d suffer the same fate simply by being similarly equipped. 

“She is brilliant in rain and wind which is not an easy thing. Track conditions in the second half of the season compliment her strengths. I have no doubt she'll break into the top five this year.”

“To what end though?” 

“Pardon?”

“Well, women drivers are nothing but a nuisance and a distraction.” Wylie said in an unctuous, far too chummy voice. “The odd one may do well enough for a few races here and there but everyone knows they have no business being on the track with the pros. They can’t even fit their boobs behind the steering wheel. Not to mention, once a month they are emotionally unstable and who knows what they might do at speed.” Wylie caught Fergus’s soft curse and shaking head, which he interpreted as admiration for showing some balls and saying what every driver thought but very few said aloud. “Who needs it, right? And what if a girl manages to take a race or two-- pure luck takes no skill at all. But to what end? No woman can win the Championship and her “w” takes one away from a man who can.”

Fergus opened his mouth, couldn’t decide what he wanted to say first and shut it again, muttering something in French under his breath, which Claire didn’t catch, but the blush across Jenny’s face told her her friend had. 

“I have seldom met a driver with as much common sense or ambition as Rachel Hunter. Mark my words Wylie, she is a contender for the Championship and I’d lay odds she’ll win one before she turns thirty. As for your gross speculation regarding the fit of the wheel, no team has ever had an issue modifying an interior for a male driver, why should this be any different?” Fergus said coldly. Not wanting to give any more credence to this buffoon and his biases, Fergus decided to hit him where he knew it would hurt the most. “Tell me, Wylie, how many races have you been in?”

“Close to three dozen.” Wylie’s attempted nonchalance didn’t fool Fergus, who snorted. Three dozen his foot, if the man had made it to one dozen sanctioned races, he’d have been surprised. 

“And the highest you placed was?”

“Sixteenth.” Jenny interjected promptly.

“Oh?” Fergus pretended the information was slightly shocking, “so by such logic you yourself should not be permitted to race again. After all, you have no chance to take the Championship and if you should happen to ...win one by blind luck, you’d only be taking the win from your betters.” Fergus noted. 

“You know very well that wasn’t my point.” Wylie disagreed. 

“Was it not?” Fergus wondered, “tell me, where does Rachel usually place?” 

“I don’t have my stats on me,” Wylie said with a forced levity. 

“She hasn’t been out of the top ten in the last six races,” answered Claire. “What?” She said catching Jenny’s eye. “Just because I can’t drive doesn’t mean I don’t admire people that do. You know I like doing research.”

“You don't’ drive?” Marsali said shocked. 

“Dinna be silly, she’s just teasing. Claire drove us here, in fact.” Jenny pretended that Claire’s snort of whisky didn’t just spew all over her forearm and gave her friend a meaningful slanted eye look over at Phillip then back again. Claire shrugged but said nothing else. 

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation, everyone seemed to be staring at Wylie’s fingers as they tapped impatiently on the table top. Then his expression turned sly. 

“I heard you were meeting with the MacKenzie this week,” he threw out.

Jenny’s eyes flew to Fergus’s face, which was shooting Wylie a startled look. 

“Did you?” 

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Jamie knows its how the game is played.” Wylie said with a false undertone of friendly camaraderie. 

“Your powers of inference are truly astonishing,” Fergus told him in dubious tone that went right over Wylie’s head. 

“It would be quite a feather in your cap, moving up to Mack-F1. Of course, you may need to find a new place to stay when you come to Scotland, I doubt the Frasers will keep rolling out the welcome mat...under the circumstances.” Wylie trailed off. Fergus was still gaping at him. 

“Och, I love this song,” Jenny said suddenly, jumping up and putting a hand on Fergus’s upper arm, “let’s dance!” It was obvious Jenny wanted to grill Fergus outside Wylie’s hearing.  Marsali got up to visit the restroom, leaving Claire and Wylie to one another’s company. 

“So, how did you and Jenny meet?” 

“We were both Matheletes,” it was the best she could manage under the circumstances and a cat sight better than the first reply that popped into her head of _she walked in on me shagging her brother_.  

“And you know her brother of course?” Wylie seemed to be reading her mind.

“Hmm, isn’t he from New York?” Claire deflected fighting a blush.

Wylie laughed, of course she did, poor thing. All the girls wet their panties for that dumb oaf. He probably didn’t even notice a girl like her. Good skin, trim body, the nose thing was weird. Really, really weird. 

But from the neck down, she was ok. Great looking tits. Not that Jamie Fucking Fraser hadn’t seek his share of perfect bodies. He’d never had to work a day in his life, spoiled rich kid. No clue what it was like to have to make his own way in the world. His whole charmed life had just been handed to him. Wylie could have been a top tier driver, too, if his uncles owned the fucking company. 

“So, are you staying at Mrs. Baird’s or with Jenny and Ian?” Wylie probed. Not liking where this was heading, Claire cast about for diversion.

“It’s been ages since I’ve danced, join me and tell me about your racing career. I’ve never been to the track but it sounds very exciting.” 

Wylie puffed up like a peacock and strutted after her


	23. Present -Twenty-Three

 

They’d rearranged the pub’s tables into long communal rows as the afternoon sun started to dip low against the horizon. 

 

“Er, how much money exactly did you win on your wager?” Claire asked, as the free pours continued. 

 

“Dinna ken, Jamie just handed me his black AmEx and told me all's fair until it hit the daily spending limit. I expect Rabbie’s got that well in hand. And if no’, Jamie will straightened it out in a trice once he gets here himself. Good thing its midweek, and no’ many folk about.” Marsali shrugged. 

 

“Jamie’s on his way?” Claire couldn’t help but ask. 

 

“Aye, or so he said.” 

 

Claire did her best to pretend she wasn’t looking around for Jamie. She laughed.and kept up with the conversation around her as best as she could, but all the while her eyes kept scanning the room, the side door, the bustling bar area, hoping to catch the glint of burnished copper. She casually flicked her phone on to see if he’d texted her. 

 

Phillip and Fergus were in fine form, telling everyone funny stories about the track.  Phillip adding in local flavor with tales about growing up Kart racing and name dropping whenever he could. He was entertaining, she’d give him that much; and he seemed to have an endless supply about Dougal’s colorful off road racing career. The whole time though, her eyes kept flitting around the room like an agitated bumble bee. She had way too much energy. 

 

Luckily, the music started up once more and well lubricated couples began jumping to their feet to dance. She found herself partnered with Rabbie, who’d come out from behind the bar to join the fun. Claire was enjoying the distraction, so when Phillip Wylie insisted on another dance, she’d agreed readily enough. Though she was regretting that now, as he grew bolder with her. He hadn’t been nearly so physical their first time out.  

 

Claire was beginning to wonder whether Phillip Wylie was part octopus. No sooner had she removed one of his hands from her ass another promptly took its place.  The only saving grace was the music was turned up so loud, she was spared the need to make small talk. Claire kept one distracted eye on on the wandering limbs of her dance partner and the other on the door, so how she had missed his entrance, she would never know. 

 

The next song was a slow one that caused Phillip to try and snuggle up against her. Claire pushed back against him, trying to create some daylight as she cast about hoping to catch Fergus’s eye for an assist. Her head scanned left to right, then right to lef---she did a double take, no, she hadn’t imagined it. 

 

She’d been looking forward to his arrival but now reconsidered. Gone was the charming smile, the teasing twinkle in his eye that melted over her like hot butter. No, her playful highland booty call had evaporated into the mist. He wasn’t a total stranger, though. Claire had spent months researching Scottish history, and with a jolt of recognition, her heart began drumming a pulse beat that drowned out all sound. She had never imagined seeing one in person, but there he was anyway, a full blooded highland warrior ready to vanquish all enemies. 

 

Claire felt she was seeing him-- the real Jamie Fraser-- for the first time. His fierce competitive edge, a killer instinct, and spine of steel that he kept cloaked beneath a mask of genial amiability. Having seen the expression on Jamie’s face, she looked around for Fergus once more, suddenly uncertain from whom she would need rescuing. 

 

He ate the distance between them in less than a dozen determined strides, heedless of the couples gyrating to the beat as he cut across the dance floor. Having made not even the slightest attempt at subtlety, Jamie’s presence was fast becoming known.  But the men and women who had been happily toasting his generosity and extolling his virtues not twenty minutes past, were now falling all over one another in their rush to move out of his way. 

 

Claire squeaked a little, causing Wylie to look up. Claire didn’t like the glint of calculation she saw in Phillip’s eyes the second before he abruptly spun her around until her back was to Jamie. Jamie deftly stepped sideways, Phillip countered the movement, in a further bid to hold Jamie at bay. 

 

Claire felt like a mannequin being dragged around a window display, with hands on her shoulders and hands on her waist, each pair twisting in opposite directions. Of all the ridiculous things! She was trapped between the two, with Phillip refusing to yield and Jamie’s determination to make him do so. Wylie obviously thought himself quite clever, his smirk never faltering, as he pivoted and rotated always one step ahead of Jamie. She was growing quite irritated by his smirk when she realized that while Wylie may have thought he had the upper hand, Jamie had been carefully herding them into a corner.  When Wylie at last could go no further, Claire sighed in relief.

 

“Claire, a word,” Jamie bit out. 

 

“Oh, Mac Dubh, I didn’t see you standing there. I see you’ve met Jenny’s friend Claire.” Phillip said. 

 

Claire watched Jamie’s eyebrows rise up at this remark but he otherwise didn’t so much as flick his eyes toward the man, which was not sitting well with Wylie in the least. He pitched his voice pretending to imitate someone else speaking to him. “Oh hello, Phillip, how are you? I’m fine, Fraser, just fine. What brings to this God forsaken miserable dot on the back end of the map to nowhere? Funny you should ask, I am chasing a huge scoop. Does any of us ever know what the future holds in store? Well, in your case, Fraser, I think I just might.” Wylie’s knowing tone was grating on Claire’s nerves but Jamie didn’t seem to care about anything he had to say. 

 

Jamie jerked his head towards the door, “now, if ye please,” as he reached his hand out, intending to place it on the small of her back, a gesture that spoke of his innate courtesy, but Wylie either misunderstood or was trying to compel Claire to stay by his side and quickly brought his own arm down to grip Claire’s upper arm.  No sooner had she let out a startled yelp than Jamie had Wylie’s arm pinned behind his back and had deftly swept him off balance. He landed on the ground, wheezing in unexpected pain. 

 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Wylie demanded, rubbing his arm. Claire’s own was throbbing but Wylie was completely oblivious to her discomfort, focusing entirely on his own. Jamie noticed, though and he briefly considered helping Wylie stand up just so he could knock him down again.  

 

“Ye never had any manners to speak of,” Jamie observed, glancing at him in distaste before reaching his fingertips out to Claire, who took a few steps out of reach of both of them. 

 

“Like you do?” Wylie laughed, “you should really play nice, Mac Dubh, I know its hard to see when you are at the top, but take it from me, it gets awfully lonely at the bottom. You’ll find that out quick enough on your own, I expect.” 

 

Jamie stared down at his smug face, feeling a sudden sense of unease and found himself belatedly processing what Wylie had been saying. 

 

“Och, there ye are Claire, Fergus and Marsali are heading back to the farm, I expect Ian and the wee lad will be hungry for supper, did ye need a ride?”  God bless Jenny Murray, was all Claire had time to think as she threaded her arm through Jenny’s and let her squire her out of the pub. 

 

She hadn’t expected to make a clean getaway, and she didn’t.  His hand closed on her shoulder just as she was reaching for the door of the car. 

 

“No’ so fast, Sassenach.” He bit out. “I’ll see her home, Jenny, ye dinna need to wait up.” Jamie flicked his eyes to his sister. Jenny opened her mouth to protest but she read something in his expression that had her inhaling a deep breath. 

 

“Did ye get yer card back from Rabbie?” she said instead. Jamie glanced back to the pub’s entrance, considering. 

 

“I...dinna ken.” He said.  

 

“Only you, brother, would be foolish enough to keep a tab open and no’ collect his card. I’ll get it for ye and be back in a trice.” Jenny said, in an obvious delay tactic. 

 

Claire wanted to hug her-- the woman didn’t want to appear disloyal to her brother but had been unwilling to abandon her new friend.  

 

Jamie waited until she well away before rounding back onto Claire. 

 

“Well?” Jamie crossed his arms and stepped closer.  

 

“Well what?” Claire stalled for time. 

 

“He was all over ye like shit on a shovel and ye dinna seem to mind.” Jamie bit out.  

 

Claire blinked at that, but then grew warm as the accusation hit her. He’d thought she’d  _ wanted  _ Wylie’s attentions? Of all the bloody nerve!

 

“You must be joking.” She said flatly. 

 

“Dinna be trying me on, one dance, mayhap, but two? Is there something going on you’d care to tell me about?”  Those piercing blue eyes flamed red with rage and had her wondering just how long he’d been watching without her knowing. 

 

“What the hell is wrong with you? We were only dancing!”

 

“Phillip Wylie likes to dance about as much as I do, he only asked ye to piss me off.” Jamie knew he was behaving like a boor. A small alarm bell was clanging in the far reaches of his mind, but the sound was drowned out by the image of Wylie pressing his hands into Claire’s backside and her teasing hips rolling against his body as they danced and he found that he couldn’t focus on anything else.  

 

“How flattering. God forbid someone find me attractive in my own right.” She snapped, all her own insecurities coming to the forefront of her mind. 

 

“That’s no’ what I meant at all!” Jamie spat, still seeing. 

 

“I'll just head back to the bar and see if they have a paper bag I can wear over my head, then shall I?” Claire made to push around him, Jamie stepped in front of her neatly blocking her move. “Out of my way!” 

 

“Yer no’ going back in there.”  

 

“I'd like to see you stop me.” Claire tried to dodge around him and was blocked again. She threw her hands against his chest, momentarily distracted by the heat of him. She leaned in and inhaled, and despite her anger, found herself calming a little as her body recognized his familiar scent. “For your information, I did.” 

 

She was standing so close to him that her hair tickled the underside of his chin. He closed his eyes, catching the herbal shampoo she used on the wind and buried his nose a little deeper into her curls. 

 

“Sassenach…” he groaned, his arms coming up to glide against her shoulders, and, when she didn’t protest, settle against her back. “Ye did what?” 

 

“Mind.” Claire told him.  “I thought you were rescuing me,”  she whispered as her hands fisted against the fabric of his shirt.

 

“Christ, Claire---” Jamie’s aching whisper was full of remorse. His arms fell to his sides, releasing her at once.  “I’ve never met anyone more capable of rescuing herself in my life.” A mix of bafflement and shame crossed his features. “Wylie and I --- there is some history between us, ye ken. He used to date my sister,” Jamie found his hands cupping her face, wanting to look in her eyes as he explained.  Claire heard the raw emotion there and wanted to ease his mind. “He was a smug wee bastard about it-- he has a way of making ye think he kens something no one else knows and---”

 

“No, it’s alright there is someth--” she interrupted, reminded suddenly that Wylie had been crowing about a scoop involving Jamie’s position at Mack-F-1. 

 

“--said some things about Jenny when they were ---” Jamie said, still trying to make her understand. 

 

“--he was talking earlier and you need to---” Claire needed to tell him, knew the stress he was under. Jamie forcefully clasped his hands over hers, which were still clinging to his chest. 

 

“Damn ye, woman! Will ye no, let me speak? I’m trying to apolo---” 

 

“---I’m not stopping you!” She interrupted peevishly, realizing a half-second too late that she was, in fact, doing just that. Claire tried to stifle a giggle. What a ridiculous, foolish fight this was! Jamie heard it and relief swept through him. 

 

“What the hell am I to do about ye Sassenach?” He shook his head and smiled hugely at her.  “I’m sorry, mo nighean donn, I dinna ken what came over me. Something about ye brings out the arse in me.” 

 

Claire’s fugitive giggle erupted into a full-blown gale of laughter.  “You really should start a---” she wheezed through fits and starts,“--- line of greeting cards, that’s pure poetry.” 

 

“I’m no’ sure if yer laughing with me or at me, Sassenach, but, either way, I like ye fine.” Jamie’s own chuckles growing to join hers. 

 

Looking at him, the joy in his fathomless blue eyes, Claire’s heart squeezed, it actually squeezed. Standing there as the darkness fell over this sleepy slice of heaven on the map, and not because he could make the very air around her a few degrees warmer just by standing next to her, and not because he could make her belly flutter with just a quirk of his lips, but just  because he was him and she genuinely adored him even when he pissed her off . A flood of adrenaline swamped her body. 

 

Jamie was on the cusp of trying to stop laughing long enough to finish his apology when the expression her face crossed from amusement to alarm and he stopped laughing. His hand fell on her shoulder. 

 

“What is it, Claire?” 

 

“I just realized something..” She said grimly, stepping away from him, knowing once she told him, they were quits anyway, “and I might as well tell you the whole, horrible sordid story. Until you, I’d never even seen a naked man before. Frank was gay. I was an 18 year old virgin when I married….. .and I stayed that way right up until we met. And I just realized I have done the stupidest thing in the world.” Those whisky eyes locked on his, riveted, so he didn’t notice that Jenny had just exited out of the pub, making her way toward them. “I've somehow managed to fall in love with you. I am nothing more than a pathetic cliche. In fact I’m every pitiful one ever written-- both the virgin who falls in love with the first man who touches her and the lonely, childless widow. When I get back to Oxfordshire, I might as well learn to knit and start adopting stray cats.” 

 

Jamie had a look of pure panic in his eyes. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Claire held up her hand. “I know I'm not being fair. But right now I'm so angry with us both I can't be rational about it.” 

 

“Oh, good yer both still here.” Jenny broke in, not noticing until it was too late that something was amiss. She took one look at Claire’s distressed face and her brother’s incredulous one and handed him his card. “I think perhaps Claire will be coming to my place for dinner, you and Fergus can fend for yourselves, I’m sure.” 


	24. Present -Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jamie struggles, with mixed success, to explain how you know you are in love.

It was after midnight when Ian dropped Claire off at Lallybroch. Of no surprise, Jamie was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t with Fergus, she was sure, because Marsali had come in, pink cheeked around a quarter to sighing over their impromptu dinner date. Well, at least Claire knew what she needed to do and resigned herself to it. She took a deep breath, called Fergus, then went upstairs and got herself sorted.  

 

An incessant clanging was filling her ears. Claire flung the covers over her head and pressed her ear tightly to her pillow. The linens had an unfamiliar smell, and she felt disoriented until she remembered where she was. For a half second, she panicked, thinking it was a fire alarm. Then she realized it was the incongruous sound of an old-fashioned landline. She groped for the chain on the overly-fussy bedside lamp, finally catching it. 

 

‘‘Lo?” Claire mumbled into the phone, her heart thudded in her chest wondering who on Earth was calling her on the hotel telephone. 

 

“Finally, Claire, Mrs. Baird kept putting me off, saying you weren’t staying in your room, but I knew better.”  Claire sat bolt upright.

 

“Jack?” 

 

“Well, of course darling, who else?” Jack laughed carelessly, as if she was making a joke. 

 

“I am not _your darling_!” She said before remembering to get a grip on her temper. “That makes me feel uncomfortable, you know its what Frank used to call me.” Claire tried to soften her approach. 

 

“Well then, you are used to it -- Randalls are all about tradition, after all,” this last said with absolute conviction, Claire bit her bottom lip and tears sprang into her eyes. Frank would kill the bastard if he knew what his cousin was doing and she had a sudden stab of longing for him. “And in one week’s time, you will be my darling, and any other name I care to call you.” Claire knew she had not imagined the slight bite to his tone. 

 

“Jack, I really wish you would stop saying such things to me. I am making good progress in my research and if you would just----”

 

“I called to remind you to be careful about appearances.” Jack interrupted, without even being aware of doing so. 

 

 _Oh, so one of his little spies had been speaking to him_. Claire suddenly felt deeply fond of her ugly tattoo. Her plan was working!

 

“I am who I am, Jack, if a conservative appearance is so important to you, perhaps---”

 

Jack didn’t let her finish her thought, chuckling, “not that kind of appearance, I mean have a care regarding the social circles in which you move. Degenerates down at the pub may be enjoyable every now and then, but, really, it would be a shame for your reputation to suffer.” 

 

“Degenerates? In a village pub?” Claire said bewildered. 

 

“Yes, I heard you were seen drinking with a social media blogger of some kind and danced with the barkeep, really, Claire, you must be more circumspect.” 

 

That was it? That’s all he was going to complain about? _What about my tattoo? My updated wardrobe showing off my hips and  cleavage? The hair and makeup? Or the nose piercing? What about that smoking hot redheaded highland fling accessory I’ve been sporting?_

 

“I am sure the novelty of spending time with a celebrity has a certain amount of prurient appeal. But, look at the people he cultivates-- that blog person, for example, or that young French driver--the two of them womanizing and trading on their looks and fame, its just unseemly. You are better than that, Claire and that is why I am willing to marry you. Remember your behavior reflects on me.  I also know you are no closer to finding the lost gold even after a week of searching. So step carefully, _darling._ ” Jack rung off without waiting for her reply. 

 

By mid-morning, Jamie still hadn’t resurfaced. In all fairness, she suspected that she was being unreasonable-- after all she had detonated a bomb and then just walked away leaving him standing there with his mouth open. Then she’d check into her room without telling him she was going. Clearly, she needed some time away from him and, gentleman that he was, she could well imagine he was likely trying to respect her wishes. Christ, she was absolutely hopeless at relationships. But, both Fergus and Jenny knew where she was and surely one of them would have said if he’d asked.The fact that he hadn’t come meant they had nothing to discuss. 

 

Resigned,  Claire took a steaming hot shower and, as she wiped the mist off in the mirror, took a long look at herself. Funny, she looked the same as always, searching, but not finding a single trace of the emotional turmoil she felt inside. Actually, she looked….pretty good. 

 

She needed to find the piercing care instructions, which she thought must be somewhere jammed in the bottom of her suitcase. She couldn’t wait to change her piercing-- she’d wanted a tiny jewel or flower. She turned her head in profile, thinking how she’d tried to be a good sport about it-- but the map of Scotland wasn’t the look she’d wanted! 

 

She caught her lips curving into a smile, remembering Jamie’s relish as he told her about their evening at the piercing parlor. Her heart may be aching where he was concerned, but that she could think of him and smile felt like the most natural thing in the world to her. That was good, then. He’d given her adventure and joy….she needed to remember that would be the legacy of her time at Lallybroch. 

 

Claire examined the tattoo, was it...maybe fading? She squinted, yes, it was much less prominent on her arm. She didn’t think it was only that she was used to it. It was many shades lighter now. She made a mental note to see if the care instructions said anything about color saturation-- not that she was complaining! She’d gladly give up that souvenir in a heartbeat-- what the hell had she’d been thinking-- even drunk as she was? 

 

 _Enough wallowing, Beauchamp! Time to get back to work._ Last night, over dinner at Ian and Jenny’s, Claire, in low spirits, slightly inebriated, and feeling rather sorry for herself, told them about her quest, about the fact that she couldn’t see how continuing her arrangement with Jamie was doing either of them much good (though Jenny spared her the need to spell out the reason why) but not knowing who else would be willing to drive her around, and, she’d also confided to them about the situation with Jack, something she hadn’t even told Jamie about. 

 

“A virgin? Married ten years gone?” Jenny’s eyebrows went right into her hairline at that. But it was Ian’s that rose to match his wife’s when Claire explained. 

 

“What makes ye think he’d keep his word even if ye did find the gold?” Ian asked. 

 

“Honor is all to a Randall, of that I am certain.” Claire explained. “If I can prove the work has value, he will endow the fellowship and secure Lamb and Frank’s legacy.”

 

Jenny took it all in patted her hand and then made a few calls, eventually securing the help of a local boy who had the week off from school to take over for Jamie. When Hamish came into Mrs. Baird’s parlor, Claire immediately whirled into the cozy butler’s pantry off the dining room, luckily now empty of the morning crowd who came in search of Mrs. B’s famous breakfast spread. Unbeknownst to Claire, the carpet was uneven and the door to the panty never really closed properly. It was open just enough to allow Hamish to overhear her end of the conversation. 

 

“Jenny---, well, no, I suppose beggars can’t be….you are right, it _is_ sweet of him to help me on his school break-- ahm, you _do_ mean college, not high scho---well, do you blame me? I don’t think he even has whiskers… uhum….uhum…. Ok. But-- ok, yes, you are right, I need help and time is running out. .... ….Oh, no, Jenny, I know you didn’t tell him about the gold or Jack, and even if you had, if you trust him,I know he’ll be discrete. …..At least tell me he has more experience driving than I do?....stop! I was seriou--ok, fine, laugh at me!...”  Claire paced back and forth in the anteroom, as she and Jenny spoke. She knew she should just thank Jenny and get going on her day, but she _needed_ to know. She took a deep breath, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

 

“Listen, before I go, I was wondering if maybe Jamie has call--no? Ah, well, me neither. Wylie? No, Mrs. B said he isn’t staying here. Are you going to call Fergus?.....ok, then… well if you hear anything-- actually, nevermind, Jenny, don’t tell me…. No, I can’t do that! Jenny, how could you even suggest such a thing? That’s just… no! I will find another way to get  Jack off my back and please don’t tell Jamie anything…...I know….yes,,,Well, I have my pride, too, damn it and I won’t be anyone’s damsel in distress!”

 

Hamish’s ears grew pinker and pinker as he listened to Claire’s side of the conversation with his cousin Jenny. He’d not even had a proper look at the woman-- he had a flash of curly wig and endless legs that had ended in spikey boots. When she came back to the parlor, he smiled in delight. She was breathtaking, and like his cousin Jamie, he tended to crush hard on older women.  Perhaps because he’d graduated high school two years early, and was always the youngest in his class, sometimes by several years. 

 

He was, statistically speaking, a genius.  It was nothing to him, numbers on a piece of paper, and he privately thought all the intelligence in the world was no substitute for ambition. Hamish’s single biggest challenge was trying to figure out what he wanted to do in life, as he knew quite well he could learn how to do any number of things well enough to make a living. He still had a few years to figure it out, though. For now, he had the afternoon to spend with Miss Beauchamp. 

 

“Sandringham Castle, is it, milady?” He teased as he bowed. When Claire returned a curtsey he smiled and offered his arm, “well, then, your carriage awaits.” 

 

Claire had made a special appointment to look at the family records from the mid-18th century after learning that the Grey brothers had been frequent guests of the Duke, particularly before the Rebellion. Their father, Gerald Grey, had been accused of being a Jacobite in the prior Rising of 1715 and was more or less a contemporary of the Duke of Sandringham whose own loyalties had been very much in question, especially after extended trips to Paris coinciding with those of the Bonnie Prince.  The family archives apparently contained several letters between Hal and the Duke which she was hoping to see. 

 

Hamish proved to be a wonderful company. Yes, he was very young, but charming in a way that reminded Claire quite a bit of Jamie. He was also an exceptional researcher and with his help, she’d been able to find several letters and accounts related to Sandringham’s pre-Culloden activities, including a wealth of material from the Duke’s sojourn to Paris a couple of years before the Rising.  Claire skimmed these, decided to make copies of the whole lot to review later. They had been so productive, in fact, that they had finished with time to spare and jumped in to join the last tour group through the public rooms at the Castle. As they tagged along, they got to know one another. 

 

To her surprise, she learned Hamish, even young as he was,  was working on his PhD, a feat made possible by the fact that he’d skipped several grades, graduated early, and dual enrolled in undergrad and master’s at the same time. Hamish’s body was in that scrawny stage of late adolescence where his frame was all there but was still waiting to fill out. He was game for anything, crawling through secret passages between rooms at the castle, laughing in delight as he popped out and scared her with a well-time “boo!”, but sweet, too taking her hand to help her navigate a small puddle, and placing his hands at her waist to help her down off a platform the group had gathered on to better explore the architectural elements of the chapel. 

 

Hamish was a keen observer of other people, likely because he’d spent a lot of time around older children and adults as he was accelerated through the school system and he was full of entertaining anecdotes.  But still, clearly a product of his own generation as he was an unapologetic selfie opportunist. 

 

“You’ll need to send me those later,” Claire told him, confessing that no, she couldn’t just snag them from instagram or Facebook, not having any social media accounts herself.  They’d just taken a series of shots in front of a particularly striking portrait of one of the 8th Duke of Sandringham’s nieces, Mary Hawkins. A frail, waif of a girl whose heartbreak was evident even in the painting. 

 

According to their guide, Mary had been a favorite of the Duke’s, lost the love of her life before she had turned eighteen, and was an accomplished needlepoint hobbyist-- as evidenced by the handful of samplers  displayed near her portrait.   

 

Claire was impressed by a depiction of the Tower of London, so detailed that she could see each stone of the facade and count the panes in every window. She also quite liked the way the alphabet had been interspersed just below each window pane.  Claire admired the blades of grass framing another sampler of the Callanish standing stones, which she guessed had been done in the year 1746, judging by the fact that the calendar was stitched underneath the stone circle; there was also a sampler featuring numbers marching in neat rows of ten from 1 to 100 set underneath a picturesque castle she didn’t recognize. 

 

“ _Luceo non uro_?” she read aloud gesturing to the coat of arms in the far right corner of the piece. Hamish smiled at her. 

 

“I shine, not burn, the MacKenzie motto.”

 

“I don’t recognize the building, do you?” 

 

“Och,” Hamish said, “that’s Leoch, dinna tell me ye havena visited there yet?” 

 

“Jamie mentioned it, but I haven’t been there yet.” 

 

“If ye like, I could take ye tomorrow?” Hamish offered. 

 

“I thought it was only open on Saturdays until summertime.” At that Hamish’s face grew bright red. 

 

“Maybe so, but I ken the owner,” he had such a glint in his eye that she had a flash of recognition. 

 

“Wait a second, don’t tell me you are little Hambo?” 

 

“Please, Claire,” Hamish winced, “no one save my parents and uncle has called me that in ten years.” 

 

“Geillis talks about you all the time.” Claire laughed out loud. “Though, from her stories, I pictured you around six or seven.” 

 

“I’m almost 20,” he said, “no’ that my family kens it.” 

 

“I had no idea you were so accomplished,” she complimented. 

 

“Not really, my daddy’s rich and my mama’s good looking.  Tis easy to get ahead when yer family is pulling the strings.”

 

“Plenty of privileged children get a head start, but very few of them show your level of drive and initiative.” Claire said firmly, resisting the temptation to ruffle his hair.  

 

On the drive back to Broch Mordah, they chatted companionably about what it was like being part of family with so many famous members, about his plans to travel to New Zealand in August, Claire’s driving lessons, the second of which Jenny was threatening to foist on her tomorrow morning, and if they deliberately avoided the subject of Jamie, Claire was happy to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Hamish asked about her research, and Claire, knowing time was running out, took a chance and told him about the cipher and her lack of progress. 

 

“Sounds like ye maybe could use a little computational help.” Hamish observed. “A computer program to break the code, since ye dinna ken if its in English or German or French, even.” 

 

“I wish,” Claire nodded, “but I have no idea how to do that and I am running out of time.”

 

“Will ye let me help?” Hamish asked, begging with his puppy dog eyes.

 

“I...I don’t want to be a burden, you already a _re_ helping me by driving me around.” But she saw the sincerity in his eyes and gave in, “but I suppose if you’re sure you can spare the time, then yes, I would appreciate it.” 

 

By the time Hamish had dropped her back at the B & B, taking her notes with him as he gave her a good night bear hug, which Claire hadn’t even known she needed badly until her face relaxed into his chest, it was well past dinner time. The ever efficient Mrs. B had a plate warming for her. While she nibbled on her meal, Claire read over the documents from Sandringham’s estate. It was only when she heard her cell ringing that she remembered that she hadn’t heard from Jamie all day.

 

. “Jam---” she started, certain the caller could only be one person.

 

“I am delighted to see you took my advice, my dear,” Jack told her, his voice running like ice water in Claire’s veins. 

 

“I’ve no idea what you are talking about, Jack.” 

 

“Ditching the racer and spending your time with the MacKenzies of course.” He said as if it were obvious. 

 

“What?” 

 

“The tour of Sandringham Castle, very nice, Claire, and a surprising number of outlets picked the story up, the heels were a bit much for daytime, and some joker photoshopped a ghastly tattoo of your racer’s icon  on your arm but obviously its a fake, and that ended up making the post even more popular. Its wonderful to see you mingling with the right society, well done. I can hardly believe this time next week you will be Mrs. Randall once again --- Jack Randall that is.” And before Claire could say a word, he’d hung up the phone. Claire debated for a half second before googling herself and sure enough several photos of her and Hamish turned up in search results. 

 

Claire had no intention of cyberstalking Jamie to find out what he’d been doing … and who he’d been with--- but the search engine had linked the image of her tattoo with the racer and his picture filled the screen. Her stomach dropped, half expecting that she’d see pictures of him with some sleek actress or out partying -- and only confirming her suspicion that her confession would cause him to run as fast and as far from her as he could. Claire held her breath as she scrolled. While she’d been at Sandringham Castle, he’d visited the Edinburgh race track with a group of junior Kart racers running an impromptu clinic of sorts.  His red hair and bright blue eyes jumped out from the group photo he’d posted, surrounded by 15 or so girls and boys clutching their helmets in one hand and giving thumbs up with the other. The caption saying how proud he was of the Highland Racing Club. That was...unexpected. 

 

She clicked further into the search results, seeing that Phillip had posted his interview with Fergus, heavily edited to imply a story that was pure speculation, but nevertheless promising a big Scottish racing scoop in the next few days.  Well, no wonder he hadn’t called her, he probably had an inkling that his position was in serious trouble and no doubt trying his best to salvage the situation. Her heart ached for Jamie, knowing how huge the stakes were for him, how tough it would be to lose his job to a boy he’d taken under his wing and considered a good friend. 

 

o0o

 

True to her threats, Jenny showed up at the B & B the next morning. 

 

“I dinna ken where he went and I’ll no’ let ye spend another second worrying over it. Ye have yer own life to live, Claire, so let’s get to it.” Jenny told her as she tossed her the keys. 

 

Claire managed to get the car all the way into third gear without hyperventilating. However, she’d almost hit a car trying to pull out into traffic, then ended up missing a ditch by mere inches. On the way back to the inn, they'd gotten stuck behind a tractor from a local farm and Jenny dared her to pass it. 

 

“You’re crazy!” Claire told her. 

 

“Och, Claire, we got ye all the way to the speed limit today! Come on, try yer first pass, carpe diem, the world’s your oyster, insert pithy saying here.” 

 

“Pithy? Well, how about this, then. If you think everything is coming your way, you’re probably in the wrong lane,” came the dry response from Claire, who stayed exactly where she was. Though Jenny noticed Claire’s sigh in relief when the tractor finally turned off the road. _They’d make a driver out of her yet_ , Jenny thought with a nod of satisfaction. 

 

Claire managed to park without hitting anything (as there were five free spaces on either side of the one she chose) and felt a huge sense of accomplishment. She grinned and hugged Jenny goodbye. 

 

Just as she was leaving, Jenny fixed her with a look, “dinna go back inside an pout, ye hear me?” 

 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Claire lied. 

 

“Ye look like a girl who decided to throw herself a last minute pity party and expected the guest of honor to show up even though she dinna send out invitations. He has no idea what to do wi’ the likes of you, Claire. Ye ken his past girlfriends all had incredible bodies and cotton candy between the ears, all silicone, no substance. Ye challenge him, ye make him want something he’s never had and it scares him shitless.” 

 

“He drives formula one cars, Jenny, he’s not afraid of anything.” Claire replied. 

 

“Aye, so long as he’s on an enclosed track running fast enough to outpace the thoughts in his head. But out here? He has to figure out where he’s going without a road map. Everyone has fears, lass, surely ye ken that much.” 

 

o0o

Hamish picked her up mid afternoon, having spent the morning creating a program which was even now running several algorithms. Claire had finished sifting through the documents from Sandringham’s archive. She’d learned that Hal Grey had been a guest at the castle for a three week stay in early 1743, just prior to the Duke’s visit to Paris. Sandringham had employed a full time personal secretary whose daily task list included making copies of both outgoing and incoming correspondence which turned out to be very convenient for her. The letters unfolded like a conversation as the two Dukes discussed art, philosophy,  horseflesh and the political winds blowing across the channel.  

 

In addition to little court intrigues, Grey alluded to some scandal involving the Duke’s secretary and Mary, who had accompanied her uncle to France, mentioning that it was indeed a burden to lose a clerk but really, what choice did Sandringham have? Marriage was out of the question as was further employment of the besotted servant, as there was no question that he could not remain under the same roof as his inamorata.  

 

The Duke himself seemed to harbor no hard feelings over the incident, for several friendly letters were exchanged between the clerk and the Duke right up until the Duke’s death a few years later. In fact, the Duke seemed to have been something of a go-between for the exchange of letters between the lovers.  It gave her a physical shock to read his signature and discover his name-- _Alexander Randall_ . Her fingers reached toward her phone, wanting to call Frank at once, but, of course, that was just her nervous system on auto-pilot. It was probably just a coincidence, anyway. But still, she wanted to tell _someone_ , but…. she didn’t call _him_ either.  

 

The letter itself was dated in May, 1745.  Its contents completely unremarkable, there were the usual comments about the weather, Mr. Harris’s lumbago, a follow up to an anecdote about a licentious donkey who had impregnated a prized mare on a neighboring estate. But at the bottom of the missive, there was a little drawing of an English vicarage, just a quick sketch, she’d never have noticed if she hadn’t just finished taking several of the papers she unpack over the desk in her room. The windows of the rectory were shaded haphazardly, just like the ones from Ardsmuir. Claire leapt to her feet, pacing as she thought. Yes… some of the spaces filled were in exactly the same spots.  It couldn’t be random, she was halfway through pecking out an excited text to Jamie when Mrs. Baird knocked on her door announcing the arrival of “wee Hamish.” Claire tucked her phone in her pocket, hoping the field trip would help settle her. 

 

Leoch was indeed a crumbling old ruin, but hearing the family history from Hamish’s animated mouth made the place come to life. She could picture the great hall lit with heavy candles, a great fire burning in the hearth -- most of which was still in tact. She could hear the strings of a lute on the rush of the wind and feel the wiry hairs of the keep’s hounds when her leg brushed against a pricker bush growing in the middle of the old castle courtyard. They roamed the hillside just north of the ruins.  

 

“Its so beautiful and unspoiled here.” Claire observed. 

 

“Oh, aye, the highlands are perfect for getting away from everyone and everything that makes up what most folk call civilization.” Hamish joked. “There’s no’ much industry to mar the landscape...or houses or people for that matter, thanks to decades of harsh policies by the British all of which seems to have been primarily for the benefit of countless generations of sheep.” 

 

Claire slapped her arm and waved her hands above her head, “not to mention the flies, mosquitos and midges.” 

 

“Plenty of those, especially at suppertime. Come, Claire we should be seeking our own instead of getting served up as the main meal.” Hamish took her hand.  

 

Hamish had been a wonderful distraction, and she was grateful for his company but, if anything. spending time with him only made her want Jamie more-- that big, booming laugh, his quick eye, even the ridiculous way he arched just the one brow when throwing out a challenge. Claire loved him, and no amount of logic or reason or common sense would change that basic fact. 

 

Alone for another night at the B&B, Claire thought about the way his voice made her shiver, longed for the warmth of his hand ticking along her ribcage, and grew desperate remembering the feel of his powerful body as he thrust deep inside her.  

 

 Her fingers dipped between her legs, echoes of things he’d done that made her blood hot, his tongue and lips, his flicks and hips. But when she finally achieved relief, there had been no satisfaction in it. She hadn’t even known until the moment had been snatched out of her grasp that there was such a thing as a dry climax. Her thumb brushed away her tears as she told herself to stop being so melancholy-- else she’d end up like Mary Hawkins, looking for comfort in row upon row of endless stitches. _Do shut up, you ridiculous woman!_ She told herself firmly and rolled over, pretending she would fall asleep easily.  

 

o0o

 

When Jamie returned to Lallybroch, the sun had barely risen, though he wasn’t worried about waking her, Claire was usually up with the lark. As he moved through the first floor he realized the house was too still. There were no dishes in the sink, and  in fact the basin was bone dry, no coffee was brewing. 

 

“Sassenach?” He called, moving with deliberation through the kitchen to the garden. She wasn’t outside. Nor in the study. With a feeling of unease, Jamie ran up the stairs two at a time calling her name. By the time he got to her open door, he knew what he’d find. Bed neatly made, no clothes hanging in the closet, no plants or wee herbs strewn across the desk. She was gone. 

 

Claire didn’t even glance up as the air around her displaced and Jamie made himself a home by sprawling across the other side of her cozy breakfast nook. Mrs. Baird noticed him and hustled right over. 

 

“What can I get ye, Jamie dear?” 

 

“He’ll not be staying long enough to enjoy it.” Claire said, in no hurry to finish the article she was reading in the local paper. 

 

“Och, dinna trouble yerself, Mistress B, maybe just a wee bit of coffee and a bit of bacon. Did ye make French toast or will it be pancakes today? Claire’ll have the eggs, scrambled.” 

 

“Claire has already had toast and is all set.” Claire interjected, but Jamie paid no attention. By the time he was through, Claire thought he must have ordered at least one of every item on the menu. She eyed his form with some envy, where did he put it all? 

She may have been in the wrong but he’d strung their time apart out a day too long and she would be damned if she made this easy on him. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he flopped his hand, palm up on top of the table waiting for her touch. Claire refused to give in, looking out the window and pretending to find the sight of Mrs. Pembroke walking her dog across the square to be riveting. 

 

Jamie breathed loudly once more and this time grasped her fingers in his, pulling her close enough for their hands to fit comfortably. He squeezed her palm then walked his fingers up the sensitive underside of her arm. Goosebumps feathered along her skin. Then she felt his fingertips brushing against her chin, a teasing, insistent fluttering as he lifted her face to his.  She flicked her eyes to his for a second then shifted them away. 

 

“Dinna be acting the shy maiden now, Sassenach, that doesna suit ye at all.” He said in a tone of gentle reproof. “Dinna forget I’ve seen ye bold as brass and wi’ more courage than sense, many a time, so we both know ye can get through this conversation just fine. Mmm?” 

 

The heat of his gaze held her eyes to his. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. 

 

“I’ve a thing or two to say to ye. But first things first, aye?” Jamie leaned his long body over, grabbed her cheeks between his hot hands and kissed her soundly, breaking her down with just the touch of his lips. He pulled back slightly, and she could still feel his mouth as it hovered over hers. “I missed ye.” 

 

He kissed her once again and she gets lost in it, until she hears herself moaning, begging for more, and he gives it to her so good her panties grow damp. She doesn’t think his tongue could go any deeper, until her hands get twisted in the fabric of his shirt trying to tell him without words how desperate she is for his touch, he makes that little grunting sound that drives her wild. One press of his palm between her legs would do it, she hitches herself up trying to encourage him, parting her legs and rubbing her body against his. It is him that eventually pulls away, sitting back with a small air of satisfaction as she sat stupefied, staring at him and wondering what just happened. 

 

“I take it, ye finally checked into yer room?” His tone is so shockingly normal that she’s reminded once more that she is a sexual neophyte and has no idea how this game is played. Except to her its not a game.  

 

“I couldn’t see a better option.” She said glumly. 

 

“No?” Jamie asked, brow raised. 

 

“Oh please! You can have any woman you crook your little finger at. You certainly don’t need to spend another second with some delusional widow traipsing all over the glens in search of the impossible. Jesus, I can’t even manage to get  laid without having to hire my own professional booty ca----” 

 

“Och, Mistress B, let me help ye wi’ that.” Jamie smiled as he reached over to help with a tray ladened down with all manner of platters and dishes. The meal would’ve made an impressive breakfast for a family of four, never mind one man. Jamie set about preparing a plate of choice morsels for her while he waited until they were alone once more.  

 

“We’ll get to the booty call business in a minute, lass, for I have a thing or two to say on that which are important but first, ye need to ken what yer feeling isna love, Claire.” His guileless eyes searched hers with such earnest tenderness she couldn’t hold his gaze. 

 

“Oh? Been in love often have you?” Claire was furious, _God damn bloody Scot! Who was he to dictate her feelings to her?_

 

“Once when I was 17, and since then I’d wager I’ve been a wee bit closer more times than you.” That was blunt and effectively shut her up. 

 

He softened his expression and took her hand in his. Claire’s eyes stayed on their fingers. 

 

“Yer 28, Sassenach, and off to a late start. These feelings you have are expected and normal for yer first time, and the way we connect…” Claire’s eyes shot to his face in time to see his throat swallow convulsively before he continued, “is different, I’ll no lie and shame the devil. Its strong and rouses both of us, but that doesna make it love.” 

 

“What’s the difference?” She asked and that gave him pause. 

 

“Well now, I havena been in love since I was a boy, Sassenach, so I couldna say precisely.” 

 

Claire felt exposed, and not a little vulnerable. He hadn’t any idea what her feelings were but sitting there and having to listen to him try and explain them to her would very likely reveal some hard truths about how he himself felt and the fact that he hadn’t come to her for two days spoke volumes already. She wasn’t up for that. 

 

“Then tell me about what being in love was like for 17 year old Jamie Fraser.” He made a soft chuffing sound, liking the question. 

 

“Och, well, ye skipped a lot of steps, ken, by no’ getting this out of the way when you  were foolish and in high school, but as near as I can recall, I didna eat or sleep for weeks. I found myself changing my whole schedule around just to be free the same afternoon I kent she worked in the diner down near the track. I spent days tracking her through social media apps, friending her friends just to try and figure out what her hobbies were.” He stared laughing, “and then suddenly ye find yerself windsurfing on the off chance she’d see ye doing the same-- on the same day and the same time and in the same place-- and that hope seems perfectly rational to ye at the time.” He laughed and Claire smiled, too. 

 

“Well, did it work?” she prompted. 

 

“Oh aye, it did,” he flashed her a cheeky grin. “And the next thing I knew, I was losing my cherry in the back of her father’s jeep with her board rubbing wee scratches in the paint where it was left leaning against the car and the sail flapping and snapping even louder than the embarrassing grunting noises I was making.” 

 

“And that was that love?” 

 

“I told ye, Sassenach, your first experience stirs ye something fierce. But no, as arousing at the sex was, love was there in the pet names we called one another, in every hideous song I listened to just because it was the kind of music she liked. It was me showing up at her school dances just hoping to hold her in my arms, even though I canna dance a lick and everyone-- and I mean everyone from teachers to bairns point and laugh at me when I try. I even wore a cowboy hat and boots to please her! I must have sent her a hundred awkward notes and I thank god she never saved a one of them.” Claire laughed. Jamie at 17 would have been quite irresistible. She reached for her water. Jamie waited until she had taken a swallow then added, “I kent it was love the first time I let her hold my cock when I pissed, you know, that sort of thing.”  

 

“You did that on purpose, you arse!” She spluttered, grabbing extra napkins and wiping her chin. “So what happened?” 

 

“Numpty that I was, I missed her when I was racing, which was nearly every week during the spring and summer and so I was gone a lot. She and I ran up huge phone bills, but it wasna the same as being there. So, I skipped one of the most important Kart races of the year because it was her birthday and I wanted to surprise her. She thought I was gone for the weekend, and my showing up on her doorstep was certainly unexpected. I had no idea, ye ken,” he said softly, “that yer heart doesna break so much as it turns to ice and shatters.” 

 

She could see moisture gathering in his eyes and this time it was he that turned away. 

 

“But, so much for young, dumb Jamie.” He said ruefully, “Claire, my life is...complicated. Not many relationships thrive. We are on the road more than half the year, and its no’ a good atmosphere for families, for girlfriends especially. There are lots of female fans always available, at every event. I get room keys, phone numbers, dirty pictures thrust into my pockets all the time. I can tell ye I dinna ever go wi’ them, but social media can be brutal, even so. Ye canna know what is real and what is lies and no one seems to believe you, no matter what ye say. Ye ken I gave up trying to tell anyone my side of things long ago. It takes more energy than one person has to make even a small dent in it. That life is nothing I would wish upon someone close to me. And off the track, well, I’ve already talked of the fact that I have no prospects, and nothing to give you. Eventually, you’d start to resent me for my limitations. You’d outgrow me, Claire, plain and simple and that would brea--” Jamie cut himself off and cupped her chin in his hand, searching her face. “Guard yer heart, a nighean, until you find a man worthy of you. Everything ye feel right now is all mixed together. In time you will see that attraction and love are no’ the same.”

 

“I have never felt like this with---” 

 

Jamie placed his finger on her lips silencing her. 

 

“Shh, Sassenach, this is only something ye learn with experience. Ye havena enough to _know,_ aye? Promise me you’ll no’ put yerself in a cage, not now, not when ye finally have the freedom to fly. Ye need to start spreading yer wings. You said ye didna connect wi’ anyone ye went out with down in Oxford before?” 

 

Claire nodded, confused about why he was asking. 

 

“Well, yer no’ the same woman who left and ye willna be the same woman when ye return. Have ye no’ noticed how different ye are since you came here?”

 

Was she different? She did feel more confident and more open, more daring, maybe? 

 

“You...mmphm you’ve been spending some time wi’ Hamish, aye?” 

 

“Hamish? Well, yes, Jenny asked him to because you went missing.” She accused Jamie flushed red and gave her a sheepish look which was likely all the apology she was going to get. 

 

“And?” Jamie prompted but Claire didn’t say anything else. “In another life, if Hamish had been free a week earlier and was the one to meet ye at the airport would ye have found him attractive? I ken he is fair taken wi’ you.” Jamie said mildly but his eyes watched her with an avidity that reminded her of a shark. 

 

She noted his messy hair and three-day scruff and the dark circles under his eyes. He’d been trying for playful, but she sensed there was something much deeper beneath the surface. 

 

“It was you, wasn’t it? You asked him to help, not Jenny? And you thought what? That I’d let that young.... _puppy_ seduce me and you could pop up and say told you so?”

 

“Of course not, Sassenach, what sort of man do ye take me for?” He said in exasperation, “Yes, I did ask Hamish to help out, but it wasna until he started going on and on about ye the other night that I realized he had a wee crush,” Claire realized that he had been keeping tabs after all, just not through Jenny and Fergus. “I was only trying to say that I think you will not have any more issues on dates. You charmed Hamish without even trying.” 

 

“I am trying to decide whether to thank you or smack you.” She told him honestly. Jamie quirked his lips and huffed out a breath. 

“I felt the same when ye told me I was yer first. It was a shock, ye ken?” Jamie asked, and she knew he had said everything he was going to say on the subject of love. 

 

“For my own sake, Claire,  I’m glad I didna ken ye were virgin that night. If I had, I never would’ve touched ye,” Jamie’s face held an expression she’d never seen before, fierce and raw almost….tender, too. “And having had ye, Sassenach, I can tell ye now, there’s no’ much I wouldna do to have ye again. You were already the hottest fuck of my life,” those piercing blue eyes bore into hers and he was shaking his head back and forth with an air of puzzled awe.

 

“But now... to know I am your first? That its me ye trusted to teach you yer business. It steals my breath, Claire,” his voice shook, “when I think about how it felt, holding ye against me that first time...yer skin was so soft, _mo nighean donn_ , so beautiful…. And so hot, my God, the way ye _burned”_ Jamie swallowed hard, “I’ll never forget what it was like to watch ye catch fire, but no’ like a gentle flame. Yer an inferno and for now at least, yer my secret, mine. I’m the only one who kens what its like to watch ye fall. No one else knows that ye press yer lips tight together at the last, trying so hard to stay in control, to keep from crying out loud and ye almost make it but then yer quim starts to clench and ye canna stop that wee scream, Christ, I get hard as a sto—- more coffee, Claire? Ah, what would we do wi’out ye, Mrs. B?,” Jamie said as both of their mugs were topped off. 

 

“My pleasure, sweet lad,” Mrs. Baird tutted, “enjoy yer breakfast.” 

 

After watching her back retreat through the swinging door to the kitchen, Jamie picked up a fork and thrust it firmly into Claire’s hand. 

 

“I’m not hungry,” she managed to rasp, feeling dizzy, hot and achy everywhere. 

 

“So ye said. Feel free to just push the food about and pretend for my sake, though.” Jamie told her, spearing a bite of scrambled egg. “I ken God has a sense of humor, do ye no’ see, it? We go hither and yon in search of lost gold, but there right under my nose, without even looking, I find it.” Jamie chuckled as he squared off a bite of his pancake. 

 

Claire isn’t sure she is following him and he easily reads her  bafflement. Then she felt his fingers deftly slide up her inner thigh. He moved slowly, confidently and with no outward appearance of doing anything untoward at all. 

 

“I was so happy to hear Mrs. Baird made pancakes this morn.” Jamie told her off handedly. “Her French toast is chewy and hard to cut. Need a knife and fork, while the pancakes, on the other hand,” Jamie brought his fork down in illustration of the fact he was eating one handed, and at the same time he slipped the fingers of his free hand under her panty line, sinking  to the first knuckle, “part wi’ just a wee flick of the wrist.”  

 

Claire gripped her fork, gasping in shock. He watched as the tines hovered over her plate and shook.

 

“But I’m no’ so foolish as to imagine yer mine to keep, aye? Treasures canna stay buried in their lonely tombs, jealously hidden from the world. I have no right to claim ye for myself.” Jamie’s thumb found a spot just outside her walls that made Claire whimper and her fork clattered to her plate. Her hand reached out to grab  the edge of the table. He eased the pressure off and she saw his own fork begin to shake as she squeezed her thighs together, refusing to let him retreat entirely. 

 

“If all I have of ye ever is the joy of this,” Jamie said in the same conversational tone that belayed the emotion of his words, “of being the first to watch ye lost in pleasure, to lick the sweetness between yer legs, and feel yer body shudder when, oh, lass, ye like that do you no’?” Her eyes were closed now and her hips rocked slowly against his fingers. Her other hand was wrapped around his forearm and her nails were dug into his skin. “If mine was the first cock to slide between yer lips, and if it was me that showed ye how to take it deep into yer throat and how naughty it feels  when yer lover’s hands hold the back of yer head as ye go down on him, if my climax was the first one that exploded and pulsed in yer mouth, forcing ye to decide whether ye would be a spit or swallow kind of lass, that’s more than I ever expected or deserved.” 

 

“Please Jamie,” Claire was panting, her eyes were open again but completely unfocused. His words alone would’ve probably been enough to get her off, but then Jamie turned his fingers and flexed them. She stuffed her hand into her mouth and turned to face the wall, cascading her hair over her face trying to mask her impending orgasm. 

 

“Ye have no idea how the sight of ye stirs me. If I’m the first man ye ever welcomed between deep inside yerself, right to the very heart of ye, the one who first held yer face in his hands and dared ye to watch him as ye made him come apart,” Claire spread her legs wider, silently begging for more. He felt the vibration of his own moan in his chest, wondering how much more of this he could take himself. “if my cock was the first ye rode until you could feel yer honey slipping down a man’s baws and sliding into his crack and if someday ye remember how that made ye both feel, and if, because of me, ye ken the difference between sex and intimacy and refuse to settle for less, then I am a fortunate man indeed.” 

 

She took in a gulp of air and he realized she had been holding her breath.  Jamie’s cock swelled, pressing against his flies and he was leaking freely. But that was nothing to how wet Claire was, his fingers felt waterlogged and he was damp to his wrist. She was going to come in a moment, but he was close to losing it himself. Jamie hit her g-spot with a thrust, and then held the pressure and just massaging his fingers forward.

 

“Oh, Sassenach, I wish I had known that my cock was the verra first one ye ever milked, squeezing it over and over..Fuck,  Claire, take yer hand off yer mouth, please! Dinna try and muffle yer wee noises, can ye no’ see how wild they make me? I need to hear them, aye, that’s a good lass. Christ, what I would give to split ye wide open, you make that wee grunt at the first...oh yes, that one. I wish I had known that night as I pumped myself inside ye, that I was the first, the first to fill yer hot, tight quim with every single drop of my com—- Och, did ye choke on the toast? Let me call for more tea from Mrs. Baird.” 

 

Jamie pretended to turn and start to call, and even as her pleasure rolled through her, she pressed a horrified hand on his chest, which he immediately picked up and held to his panting mouth, sliding his tongue along each knuckle, and she relaxed, realizing her was only joking and providing cover for her as she shuddered helplessly, her head pressed tight against the booth. He heard her whispering mostly to herself, “oh, Jamie...Jamie...Jesus H Roo….” He’d been a hair's breadth from losing it in his pants watching her, but years of discipline and self-control allowed him to ease himself back from the brink. His hand was still between her legs, unmoving, unwilling to let go completely. When she finally turned to him, all her emotions were playing on that vulnerable face, Jamie gave her the sweetest smile. 

 

“Best of all, I’m the first one ye let in,” his fingers caressed her sex softly, “here, aye.” he told her and finally withdrew his hand completely. “But also in yer mind, and perhaps a wee piece of yer heart as well. I’d like to think ye were waiting for me to find ye and take ye on this adventure. Ye canna imagine what all of that does to me. To ken in the hands of a different sort of man, ye may never have discovered what a dirty wee vixen ye really are. I, for one, will never look at Mrs. Baird’s pancakes in the same way.” Jamie told her making her gurgle a helpless laugh. “But that’s just me being selfish, ye ken. But as for you, I am sorry, I wish I’d ha’ known so I could have made it special for you. I used you hard and rough and I shouldn’t have done so. Yer still here for a week, I want to try and make it up to you. This morning was maybe a small start. Do you think you can forgive me, Claire?” 

 

She stared at him waiting for the punchline but when he stayed quiet, she realized he was being serious. 

 

“Are you….by any chance….out of your fucking mind?” 

 

“So, I’m forgiven?”  He said looking pleased.   

 

“I wouldn’t have changed a fucking minute of it,” Claire told him. Laughing quietly at his yelp of surprise as she planted her stockinged foot firmly against the erection that had only just begun to flag. 

 

“Christ, yer driving me crazy, Sassenach.” 

 

“Ha! and you and Jenny didn’t think I’d ever learn to drive anything.” 

 

Claire beamed as she heard him laugh, followed by a groan. She focused on the feel of her foot trapped between his hand and his lap, concentrating on the movement of her toes. She couldn’t do anything about his stubborn unwillingness to acknowledge her feelings, let alone examine his own, and she hadn’t sent him running for the hills just yet. She would be damned if she wasted what little time they had trying to move the rock that was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser out of the river of denial. The water, she knew, would eventually find its way around the rock-- and whether the rock moved with the river or not wasn’t up to the river. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired in part by the life of Jackie Stewart and by Susan Elizabeth Phillip's Lady Be Good, a book that always makes me laugh. I hope I have done it justice.


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